The Devil You Know
by jackdawsinflight
Summary: Lewis and Laura awake in the aftermath of an uncharacteristically reckless night out, four years after Val's death. Will it serve to catalyse their relationship or destroy their friendship forever? AU/departure from canon post series 1/2.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. I wish I did. But I don't. **

**Author's note: This is the potential beginning of a longer story, but it's a bit of a flight of fancy as I want to change some of the timings and then completely depart from canon. So... it might not work. We'll see. **

* * *

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. _

The air in Laura Hobson's bedroom was thick with recent sleep. It bore the telltale putrid sweetness of an excess consumption of alcohol. It also felt warm. Too warm.

_Tell me this isn't happening._

Laura surmised that the temperature in the room was too high for its usual, single occupancy. Not only that, but she could hear someone else breathing, heavily, beside her.

The bed's other inhabitant startled himself in his sleep, snorting loudly, before resuming his gentle snore. Laura's leaden head complained throbbingly at her attempt to lift it.

_How? HOW has this happened?_

She winced, the skin on her face feeling parched and slightly raw. The room started to spin so she lay backwards, carefully, and held her breath.

Her body was rigid, her every muscle reeling from the combined shock and first inklings of a cataclysmic hangover. This was bad. Very bad. She frowned against her blossoming headache, seeking to retrace the steps of the previous evening.

It had started in Jericho. That much she remembered. The trendy segment of Oxford had been alive with chatter: drinkers spilling from converted church bars into the streets, supping pretentious ales and talking too loudly at whoever would listen. Music mingled amongst the crowds, crazily talented street artistes strutting their stuff for the Friday night hoards of intellectuals and academics. Fairy lights lined the alleys, giving the place a light-hearted air to contrast the seriously cerebral conversations. Her favourite French café was bustling full of clientele.

Moules frites. Mussels and chips. And a bottle… or was it two?... of cool, crisp Sauvignon Blanc. Warm chatter. Comfortable silences. It had been the kind of meal you yearn for on a first date. Yet this hadn't been a date. They were just friends.

_What have we done?_

As they had stumbled out onto the cheery thrum of Little Clarendon Street, he had been the one to suggest a further drink at the Duke. Of course, she'd willingly obliged, always eager to please him. Always keen to eke out their time together.

One drink had somehow turned into more. Perhaps it had been the optimistic lilt in the summer air, or the frivolous twinkle of fairy lights. Something had made them stay out far later than was proper for a meeting between old friends. She'd reached out to steady herself on him as he walked her home, stumbling on the cobbles, laughing as he tucked her hand under his arm and made some smart Alec remark about her inability to hold her drink.

They'd made it to her house. That much was obvious, but beyond this her memory began to cloud. She vaguely recalled a bottle of brandy that a friend had brought back her from France. She remembered two brandy glasses… and music. Sultry and slow. She remembered the look on his face, his defences rendered useless by alcohol: the look of loss and loneliness, as bold as brass. She remembered how she had longed to ease its intensity. She supposed that might be how they'd ended up this way.

_He wasn't ready for this._

Laura cast a cautious eye at the person lying next to her. The gentle snore puttered to a halt as Robert Lewis began to emerge from his ignorant bliss. He raised a clumsy hand and raked it over his face before squinting at his surroundings. As he turned towards her he took a sharp intake of breath.

_What am I going to say?_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Laura." Robbie spoke her name slowly and gruffly. She tried to decipher the meaning of his tone and failed. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged.

Silence hung, groggily, between them.

He turned away, blinking furiously at the ceiling, the corners of his mouth turned downwards as if he had tasted something sour. She felt somehow frozen to the spot, although every inch of her longed to escape this predicament: the sobering intimacy of the night's excesses.

"Robbie…" she ventured, after what seemed like an eternity. Her hands clamped the bed sheets to her chest. She grappled frantically in her consciousness for the words that would help her. Nothing.

"I'm sorry." The clumsy apology blurted from her lips before she could stop it.

He winced as he heard it, letting out a slow sigh. He made to get up, ensuring his eyes rested anywhere but on her. "I…er… think I should go." He mumbled.

Laura nodded, hurriedly, swallowing the building tightness of emotion in her throat. She focused resolutely on the ceiling as he clambered and stumbled around in search of his clothing, the agony of the situation matched befittingly by the pounding of her temples.

He put on his clothes hurriedly, but lingered slightly in the doorway before departing. "I'm, I'm sorry." He stammered, "I shouldn't have… I mean, I've never done this before. I, er, don't know what to say."

He couldn't look at her. Later, the look of abject shame on his face would torment her beyond measure.

"It's OK…" She heard herself saying.

_NO, IT BLOODY WELL ISN'T. You're making me feel such a fool, Robbie. _

She felt her cheeks burning and the blood throbbing in her ears.

"… you don't have to say anything." She added, her voice sounding quiet and far away.

_Please just get out of here. I think I'm going to cry. _

"Oh hell." He cursed, still unable to look at her. "I think I should go. I'm so sorry."

As the front door slammed, Laura succumbed to the tears.

* * *

She woke again, much later, her headache further compounded by her earlier crying. Forcing herself upwards, she surveyed the wreckage of the previous night's careless abandon. Two empty brandy glasses perched stickily on her dresser; her clothes were strewn across the floor. Hurriedly she snatched them up, before attacking the bedclothes, wrenching the sheets from the duvet and mattress, turning her face away from the smell of him that they emitted.

Downstairs, she stuffed everything into the washing machine, slamming the door hard, before making herself a large cup of strong coffee. She grimaced as she gulped back the piping hot blackness of caffeine, glad of a physical pain to divert from the searing heat of humiliation that had settled inside her.

_The bastard. Well, no, Laura, you can't just blame him. What were YOU thinking? It's no excuse that you've fancied him for as long as you can remember – even since before his wife died when you would share a harmless flirt … and, yes, lately there's been far more of a frisson between you… you've loved working alongside him, getting to know him properly… spending time together, laughing, joking and holding his gaze for that second longer than is socially acceptable... mocking him, berating him in a way that he would only allow a close friend – or someone more – to do. Deep down, you suspect he feels it too, but you've also accepted he's damaged: emotionally tethered to the lifeless love of his dead wife. You knew that. You KNEW that. Nothing has changed. Did you really think one warm, drunken summer's evening would lift away years of his grief and hurt? How could you both be so stupid? You've ruined everything. Everything._

The tears came again, hot and angry this time, quelled only by the desperate search for aspirin.


	3. Chapter 3

Lewis sat in his darkened front room. It had grown late, but he hadn't noticed. The curtains remained undrawn, the lamps without light. In one hand he held a large tumbler of whisky. In the other was a framed photograph of his wife. His breath was labored and uneven – a string of deep sighs punctuated by the clenching of his teeth. His jaw hurt from the anguished exertions of his mind; his throat burned from the onslaught of alcohol. He'd consumed sufficient that even he could smell it on his breath, but this was a comfort to him, as was the clumsiness of his movements – all signs that he was closer to numbing the pain.

_Val, pet. I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I just… I'm so… HELL! There's no excuse. I'm trying so hard to hold onto you, but I'm forgetting. I can't remember the sound of your voice. When I close my eyes, it's getting harder to picture you. My memories of us together are fading. I wish you were here to remind me. But you're not. _

More whisky, sloshed ineptly into the glass, spilled over the sides onto the table.

_You're not here. And you never will be. You're gone… and I'm left behind. Still living and breathing… and trying to go on. But I'm just making a hash of it. I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry._

"I'm sorry." He said aloud, his voice cracking. Yet he didn't cry. He simply stared, eyes bloodshot, into the oncoming darkness, emptying the whisky from his glass.

* * *

"What've we got?" Lewis asked his sergeant, who had lifted the police tape for him to duck beneath.

Hathaway began to fill him in on the details of bludgeoned corpse ahead of them. It was a priest, sprawled in the churchyard, his blood splayed, dark and rapidly congealing, on a tombstone. Lewis was only half listening; his thoughts wandering to the pathologist attending the body. Something panged inside him, resonating with involuntary tenderness towards her, despite the abject dread of having to converse with her that was causing him to sweat. They had not spoken since _that_ morning, over a week ago. _Why hadn't he called her?_

"Is everything OK, Sir?"

Sometimes Lewis wished his sergeant was not quite so perceptive.

"Er… yeah, fine."

Lewis then stalled for time by asking Hathaway and uniform some perfunctory questions about the body. But soon he could delay the confrontation no longer. His cheeks roared with heat as they approached Laura and the corpse.

"Morning, Doctor!" Hathaway chirped, startling Laura, whose reactions were in defensive overdrive. She forced herself to look up at Hathaway, faking a smile.

"Good morning, Hathaway." She returned her attentions to the corpse. "Morning Robbie." She spoke to her blood-stained gloves rather than looking up.

"Morning, Laura." Lewis almost succeeded in hiding his discomfort in the tone of his voice.

Hathaway stole a sideways glance in his direction. The look on his boss' face confirmed that something was seriously awry between his two colleagues.

"Blunt trauma to the left parietal. No murder weapon yet, but I'd say we are looking for something with quite a lot of blood on it – he's been struck multiple times. Time of death… between 9 and 10 last night, give or take."

"Anything else of note?" Lewis managed.

Laura stilled and looked up at him, the usual expressiveness in her eyes completely absent. "Nope." Her voice too was void of emotion. "I've given you all I have."

"I see." Lewis' voice was gruff.

Laura held his gaze for a moment, before resuming her work, "The PM will be later today. I'll email Hathaway the time."

Lewis nodded slowly before walking away.

* * *

"Doctor Hobson was not her usual gallows-spirited self this morning." Hathaway conjectured, nonchalantly, as the duo drove back to the station.

Lewis, who had been toying distractedly with his mobile, returned it immediately to his pocket.

"No, I suppose not." He agreed.

Silence.

Hathaway stole a glance at his superior and noted the drawn expression on his face.

"Forgive me, Sir, but you don't seem in the best of sorts yourself."

"Hmm." Lewis grunted, attempting to swallow the bitter sensation that was causing a scowl to crumple his face.

More silence.

"Sometimes it's good to talk?" Hathaway attempted.

"Not about this, it isn't." Lewis' voice was resolute.

He switched on the radio and turned it up. Subject closed.


	4. Chapter 4

The Catholic priest's post mortem was straightforward, save to the extent a murder weapon had yet to be identified. Laura proceeded quickly through her work and, without the customary banter which usually ensued between the trio (although some had been fruitlessly attempted by Hathaway), the PM drew to a swift conclusion.

With a fleeting glance that flickered meaningfully between Hobson and Lewis, Hathaway excused himself under the pretence of following up a recent lead, "It seems our Father O'Reilly had been sending some incendiary letters to one of his parishioners… I'm off to pick them up, Sir."

"Right you are." Lewis nodded, wishing he himself had such an excuse to depart.

Hathaway left and, for the umpteenth time that day, Lewis found himself confronted by an uncomfortable silence. Yet this one was by far the worst. He didn't want to talk to anyone about the reason for his mood save for the person standing in front of him. He wanted to talk to her so badly it hurt. Yet, somehow, he didn't know where to start.

He plunged his hands deep into his pockets, studying his shoes like an awkward schoolboy, as Laura washed her hands. She finished and glanced up at him, noting his cheeks were flushed with anguish. For a millisecond, the sting of her own hurt pride and anger relented, and the familiar flare of affection for him resurfaced.

She sighed, thumping her foot down on the waste bin and hurling in the damp paper towels she had used to dry her hands.

"Laura…" The sound of her first name from his lips made her stomach twist. Perhaps it was the tension in the room, or maybe it was the memory of something she'd been trying to forget.

She turned towards him, seething anger, searing embarrassment and (in spite of herself) unrelenting fondness towards the man in front of her wreaking havoc in her mind. Their eyes met and Robbie was relieved to note that hers no longer bore the unspeaking blankness of earlier that day. Laura had always said so much to him with just a look and now her expression told him that he absolutely had to resolve things between them.

"Have you got a moment?"

She held his gaze and nodded.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?"

* * *

They meandered wordlessly through the University Parks, each focusing on the crunch of their shoes on the gravel. The height of summer sun shone above them but, with the students home for summer, it was easy to find a quiet spot on a bench in the shade of an old oak tree. In spite of the warmth, Laura folded her arms protectively around herself and Robbie's hands were thrust firmly in his pockets. There was an uneasy distance between them on the bench.

Robbie turned to face her, but Laura kept her gaze firmly fixed on the green lawn ahead.

"Laura…" he began, hoping he could find the words to make this better, but somehow suspecting their old friendship might now be irrevocable. "I'm sorry."

Still she would not look at him.

"I shouldn't have left like that." He swallowed. "It was a cowardly and cruel thing to do and I'm sorry."

She shrugged.

"I wasn't thinking about you… and how that must have made you feel. I was just thinking about me… and I got it all wrong. All of it."

This caught her attention. "_All_ of it?"

He sighed. "I've never done anything like that before." He ventured, limply.

"So you're telling me it was all a mistake? Not just the leaving part?"

"No… well, yes. Not a mistake… just not something I would normally do…or have ever done…"

"And you're suggesting I have?" The hurt in her voice was spilling over to anger.

"No, no… oh hell, I'm no good at this."

"Well, you need to get better, Robbie." She was biting back the tears. "It's not something I would ordinarily do either. Yes, I think we drank too much and, yes, in an ideal world we wouldn't have taken things that far so quickly… but when two people have feelings for each other…"

"You have feelings for me?" He cut across her.

She looked at him incredulously, utterly stunned by the question and grappling frantically with its implications. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I can't believe you need to ask that question." She spoke through gritted teeth.

"But you've never said it before." Robbie felt so out of his depth, he could almost feel swirling water rising round his throat.

Laura laughed, bitterly, blinking back the tears and shaking her head. "Wasn't it obvious?" She looked at him in disbelief.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Laura groaned in exasperation, hurling herself up from the bench. She turned to face him, simmering with anger and embarrassment. "Well, at least now I know why you felt it was such a mistake. Nothing more than a one night stand for you, was it?" She spat.

"Laura, no!" Robbie's voice was desperate as he clambered up and reached out to her. "That's not it at all."

"Get off me." She shrugged him off, shaking with emotion.

"Laura, please…" He beseeched, utterly horrified by the hurt he could see in her face yet equally paralysed by the toxic mix of his own emotions.

"Leave it, Robbie." Her lip was curled in sheer disgust. "I don't want to hear any more. I understand now. Really I do."

She almost ran away from him, back the way they had come.

"No, Laura." He watched her helplessly before kicking the bench leg in frustration. "No you don't."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for taking the time to read and review. Very much appreciated. **

* * *

"I know the Church is pro-life, but these letters are going a bit far, don't you think?" Jean Innocent scoffed as she read through the bundle of copied letters, penned allegedly by the murdered priest.

"They are somewhat incendiary, Ma'am." Agreed Lewis.

"And the recipient of the letters – Norma Blakely – have we spoken to her?"

"Not yet, Ma'am." Interjected Hathaway. "She is proving rather difficult to track down."

"How do you mean?"

"She hasn't been seen by her husband for two days and is not answering her mobile."

"Interesting. Had he reported her missing?"

"Nope. Apparently, it is not out of character for Mrs Blakely to 'disappear' for a few days. She is an activist, apparently – always off to demonstrations in far flung locations."

"A pro-choice activist, I suppose?" Innocent conjectured, over the rim of her spectacles.

"Amongst other causes, yes Ma'am."

"So we've got a murdered priest who wrote provocative anti-abortion letters to a pro-choice activist…"

"And so a possible motive and therefore a possible suspect…"

"And our possible suspect, Mrs Blakely, has disappeared…"

"Which is circumstantial evidence at the very least…"

"So... it's looking like a neat and tidy case for you boys?"

"If we can locate Mrs Blakely, then perhaps yes."

"So…?"

"Missing Persons are on to it now, Ma'am." Lewis rejoined the conversation, wearily.

Innocent looked pointedly at Lewis before turning to Hathaway, "Can you phone down and get me an update from Missing Persons, James?"

"Right away, Ma'am." Hathaway left the room.

"Everything OK?" Innocent returned her questioning stare to Lewis, once the door to her office had been shut.

"Fine, Ma'am." He nodded unconvincingly.

"Is it professional or personal?" Innocent ignored his response.

"Er... I'm fine Ma'am."

"Oh, pull the other one, Lewis."

"It's nothing that will affect my work, if that's what you mean." Lewis relented slightly, knowing that this would be the quickest way to end the conversation.

"Hmm."

Lewis faked a smile.

"So it's personal. Is everything OK with your children?"

"Yes, they're fine."

"But you're obviously not."

"Ma'am…"

"Is it…" Innocent's voice softened, "… something to do with your wife?"

From the pained expression on Lewis' face, Innocent knew she was not far from the mark.

"Do you need to talk to someone about it? You know counselling services are offered as part of the healthcare…"

"No, I don't need to talk to a complete stranger to help me conclude that I'm a lonely old man, thanks all the same. I know that already."

_Damn, I've said too much._

"Robbie." Innocent deliberately used his first name. "Sometimes it can help to talk. How long has it been since your wife died?"

Lewis looked at Innocent. Really, he had no wish to talk to her of all people about this, but the spectacular failure of his conversation with Laura had made one thing clear: he needed to learn how to talk about how he was feeling and fast.

"Four years." Lewis sighed. "You'd think I'd have dealt with it by now."

Innocent shrugged. "Grief comes and goes, I've always thought. I'm not sure it ever leaves – you just get better at dealing with it over time. Maybe you're just having a blip?"

A powerful recollection of the 'blip' in question hit Lewis squarely in the chest. "Maybe." He agreed.

Expertly trained in eliciting information, Innocent let the silence hang.

"I feel like I'm in limbo." Lewis finally volunteered, surprising himself with his sudden need to talk. "I want to move on from Val's death, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"I can't let go of her. I just feel so guilty. Like I'm betraying her… but it's no life this, being stuck in the past. It's like I bloody died too. A miserable, useless existence."

"That's not true. Think of all you achieve in your work. How important you are to your team… to Hathaway, to all of us."

"That's kind of you, Ma'am…"

"But that's not really what you mean?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Are we talking about something more personal?"

Lewis shrugged and looked out of the window.

"About **_someone_** more personal?" Innocent ventured, gently. She had heard the station gossip. She thought she could now guess what Lewis was trying to say.

Lewis sighed.

"It can't be easy, Robbie. Grief and loss are massive things to carry around with you but… other people," Innocent emphasized the last two words, "understand this."

Lewis scowled as he recalled the hurt on Laura's face earlier that day.

"It's not the 'other people' who are the problem." Lewis placed the same emphasis on his words. "It's me."

"Have you tried to talk to this other… 'person'?" Innocent watched Lewis' face flush as he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

"Yes… and it was an absolute disaster."

"So try again?"

"I can't."

"So you'd prefer to stay miserable and alone?"

Lewis shrugged, dejectedly. "Loneliness is all I've known for four years. I'm used to it. Before that, all I knew was Val. I'm too old for change. Too stuck in my ways." He got up to leave, signaling the end of the conversation.

"So you'd choose your old loneliness over taking a risk with something new?"

Lewis passed before turning back to face her:

"Maybe it's true what they say, Ma'am... better the devil you know."

* * *

**Note**: hope the timing explains why Robbie is being what must seem a bit useless. This story is set towards the end of the first series in 2006. Hence why, in my mind, Robbie and Laura aren't quite on the same page... just yet...


	6. Chapter 6

Three days later, there was still no sign of the activist and suspect, Nora Blakely. Whilst the Missing Persons team was dealing with her disappearance, Lewis and Hathaway were pursuing all other lines of enquiry. Mr Blakely, Nora's husband, remained under surveillance, having been less than forthcoming at interview but otherwise giving nothing away which elevated him at this stage to the position of suspect.

In the course of digging further into the victim's background, Lewis and Hathaway had arranged a visit with the priest's superior, the bishop of the diocese. He had agreed to meet them at the parish of St Cuthbert's, the church in whose grounds the Father O'Reilly had been found murdered.

"Ghastly business this." Mused the bishop, as the priest's old housekeeper rattled in with a tray of tea and cakes.

"Tea, Bishop Morgan?" The housekeeper was practically falling over herself in fawning over the bishop.

"What a wonderful spread of food." The bishop nodded in acceptance of her offer. "Thank you, Mrs O'Reilly."

As well as being the former priest's housekeeper, Mrs O'Reilly was also married to his brother, James O'Reilly, who was a teacher at a local school.

"Oh well, it's not every day we have your Grace visiting the parish." Mrs O'Reilly cooed.

"Hmm, well, I wish it was under happier circumstances." Bishop Morgan shook his head.

"Oh, yes. Terrible. Terrible. My James is in pieces. He and his brother were so close." Mrs O'Reilly wiped what Lewis felt was a strangely unfeeling tear from her eye, before serving the detectives and excusing herself.

"Forgive me for cutting to the chase, Bishop, but do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill Father O'Reilly?"

The bishop's face clouded slightly before he spoke. "No, no. I do not."

"Were you aware of Father O'Reilly's recent dealings with one of his parishioners?"

"Dealings? What dealings?"

Lewis nodded at Hathaway, who produced the copies of Father O'Reilly's anti-abortion letters to Nora Blakely. Lewis watched the bishop's face carefully as he read through the documents.

"Well, it's hardly a secret that the Catholic Church seeks to promote and protect the interests of the unborn child…" The bishop began…

"Are those the kind of things you would expect one of your priests to be saying to his parishioners?" Lewis interjected.

"Well," The bishop coloured. "I can see how some of his comments might be seen as inflammatory. I was unaware that he was writing such correspondence. Had I known, I would of course have advised him to stop."

"So the Church would not condone such correspondence?"

"Not of this content, no."

"Father O'Reilly appears to be very angry in his letters… and, as such, some of what he writes is highly provocative, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"And it is not what you would expect of a parish priest corresponding in his pastoral role with one of his parishioners?"

The bishop hesitated. "No."

"Forgive me Bishop, for this is a rather delicate matter, but also a line of enquiry that I am duty-bound to pursue. Perhaps there was more to this particular correspondence? Or, should I say, more to this particular relationship?"

"What are you implying, Inspector?"

"Again, I apologise for the assertion and it is just one line of enquiry but it just seems very odd that a priest would be writing to one of his parishioners in this way. Were you aware of anything 'more' between Father O'Reilly and Mrs Blakely?"

The bishop sighed, forlornly. "I know what you are suggesting and I it saddens me greatly. Father O'Reilly was committed to his faith and the Church. He had taken a vow of celibacy. I know it is hard for people who do not share our faith to understand, but he had one love and one love alone: the Church."

"I understand, Bishop. Thank you for your time."

* * *

In the hallway, Lewis and Hathaway once again encountered Mrs O'Reilly.

"May the Lord forgive you for asking his Grace questions like that." She tutted, fastidiously scrubbing the floor.

"Madam, that was private police business…" Lewis replied angrily.

"Slandering the Church. You should be ashamed." She scrubbed the floor even harder.

Outside, as they got into the car, Lewis asked Hathaway:

"Did I handle that badly?"

"No, Sir. It was question that had to be put and you did so delicately."

Lewis sighed. "I understand why the Bishop was defensive. Celibacy is a bit of a hot topic for those outside the faith."

"But he must be used to it by now."

"Funny thing is, I can understand why priests do it… you know, make the choice to be celibate… to love the Church and the church alone."

"Sir?" Hathaway looked at the Inspector in disbelief, knowing that, since the death of his wife, Lewis was a vehement atheist.

"No, I don't mean I'm suddenly a believer!" Lewis laughed. "I just mean, I get the commitment to one person… or in their case one thing – their faith - for life."

Hathaway mulled this over, considering his own past. "Indeed." He paused. "I think it takes a special kind of person, though."

"Aye."

"And a special kind of faith."

"I imagine they just get used to living that way. Eventually it feels… familiar."

"Unswerving and wholehearted commitment to something intangible is a big ask, though."

"Hmm."

"Of anyone. Priests or otherwise."

"It must be an extreme form of loneliness, loving something that you can't reach out and touch. Or talk to. Or go out for dinner with... don't you think, Sir?"

"Just who are you talking about here, Hathaway?" Lewis perceived an uncomfortable shift of the conversation in his direction.

"I'm just saying, Sir, that commitment to something beyond a person's reach is admirable… but, perhaps in the long term, futile."

"Hmm." Lewis wasn't sure he wanted to wade into this particular topic of conversation again. Everyone else appeared so convinced that he needed 'saving'. "Just whom are we talking about here, James?"

Hathaway smirked and shrugged amiably. "Sorry, Sir. None of my business."

Lewis raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement.

"I just…" Hathaway hesitated for fear of overstepping the mark. "I just don't think you should beat yourself up over the way Hobson looks at you."

"What?!" Lewis spluttered.

"Oh, come on, Sir. We've all seen it: you two and your own private little wavelength."

"I'm not sure that…"

"It's OK, Sir, I understand that this particular subject is closed. However, I just think you should give yourself a break. And give the doc a break… when you feel ready to, of course."

"You're right, Hathaway."

"Sir?" Hathaway glanced sideways in surprise.

"That subject is definitely closed."

* * *

Lewis thought of nothing else but Laura for the remainder of the journey back to the station: the juxtaposition of his conscience and his feelings towards her reeking unsettled havoc in his mind. Ironically, he walked smack-bang into her in the corridor outside his office.

"Robbie…" She breathed, as she recomposed herself from their collision, lingering ever-so-slightly over the contact, utterly in spite of herself.

"Oh, Laura… sorry!" Robbie coloured and readjusted his stance to leave a respectable distance between them.

He looked at her too intently, Hathaway's earlier comments ringing in his ears.

"I was just on my way to see Innocent." Laura babbled, feeling a sudden urge to fill the loaded pause.

"I see." His face clouded over, finding himself too slow to bury the hope that his office had been her intended destination.

"So…" Laura looked resolutely at her shoes. "I'd better be going."

"Yes, of course."

Lewis' face was a picture of misery as he watched Laura close the door to Innocent's office.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for taking the time to read and review my incoherent ramblings. And for your patience with my two non-communicators... well, mostly Robbie. In his defence, he's not had quite as long to get his act together as series 7 Robbie. Whilst I know (vaguely!) where this is going, I am writing it as I post it, so I really enjoy reading and thinking about your views.**

* * *

A grilling from Innocent on the case forensics was a welcome, if highly unusual, reprieve from the awkwardness in the corridor. Laura settled into her groove, fielding Innocent's questions with ease and her customary animation. 'Morbid fascination' Robbie called it…

… damn. She was thinking about him again.

"I did explain all of this to Lewis and Hathaway." Laura finished.

"I'm sure you did." Innocent said, good-naturedly. "I just thought, with them two tied up with the bishop earlier, I'd go straight to the horse's mouth. We've had the press sniffing around – 'silly season' tends to get them frisky in the summer – they're desperate for even the slightest whiff of a headline - and I just wanted to have my facts straight before I speak to them."

"Of course." Laura could count the number of times she'd seen inside Innocent's office on one hand. Perhaps there was more to this case than the Chief Super was letting on. "Well, I'll be getting off."

"Thank you, Dr Hobson." Innocent began to busy herself with the papers on her desk. As Laura's hand grasped the doorknob, Innocent spoke again, "I'd like Lewis to take another look at that head wound with you, if that's OK. We're still had no sign of the murder weapon and maybe you two might be able to put your heads together on it."

"Er…" Laura hesitated: her report already held everything she had to say on the matter.

Innocent looked up; her smile saccharine-sweet, "Just to make sure we've covered every angle and…" She paused and looked pointedly at Laura, "ensure you're both on the same page."

"If you think that would help..."

"I think it would help Lewis. A lot."

Laura masked her confusion with a slow nod. "Right..."

"Thanks again, Doctor Hobson. I'll send him down to the mortuary in a bit."

Innocent's attention turned swiftly back to her paperwork, but Laura swore she could perceive a faint smirk on the Chief Super's lips.

Baffled, she left the office.

* * *

Lewis appeared in the mortuary an hour later, looking somewhat sheepish, but behaving as professionally as he could. He explained his presence and seemed surprised that Laura had been expecting him.

"Jean told me she wanted us to talk." Laura ventured, her face flushing as she hurriedly added, "about the head injuries on the priest."

"Yes." Robbie seemed as a bewildered as she was.

Somehow they managed to conduct a review according to Innocent's wishes. After a short time, they each began to relax into the familiarity of discussing a case, eventually resuming eye contact, the initial tension easing.

The discussion concluded without a miraculous breakthrough on the case, but with a noticeable thaw in the air between them.

"Thanks, Laura." Robbie said, genuinely. "It's been good to talk things through."

"Hmm." Laura mused, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at him, communicating her suspicion that the past fifteen minutes had been a rather a waste of time, professionally speaking.

He took a deep intake of breath.

"If you don't mind... I think there are a few more things I'd like to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"Things not to do with a bludgeoned priest…." Robbie vainly attempted gallows humour, but then thought better of it, his face suddenly becoming serious. "Things I should have said to you before." He lowered his voice.

Laura swallowed and nodded.

"Are you free this evening?"

These were words she always loved to hear from Robbie, yet today they seemed somewhat ominous.

"Um… yeah."

"Good." He attempted a smile. "Innocent's given me two tickets to a cello recital at Malvern College - she and her husband can't make it. I thought we could talk… properly… over a pint afterwards?"

Laura hesitated. In any other scenario, this would be a date. Yet the look on Robbie's face suggested otherwise. She fought back a monumental sigh – the butterflies in her stomach she would ordinarily have at the thought of seeing him socially were notably absent, but the familiar ache for him was definitely as insistent as ever. Their last attempt at talking had not gone well and her instinct told her that she wasn't going to like what Robbie had to say this time either. Yet, she was helpless to her unswerving need to oblige him, to be there for him – even at her own expense.

"OK."

"Great. I'll pick you up at 7."

"Fine."

He looked at her strangely. For once, she couldn't quite read his expression. Then he turned to leave before pausing in the doorway.

"Thanks, Laura."

'What for?"

"For giving me another chance to explain."

* * *

Robbie had never been one for speeches. His usual form of address was simple, straight-talk. However, he was well aware that this particular situation required more of him. On the journey home from work to change before collecting Laura, he tried to rehearse what he had to say to her. It kept coming out wrong. He swore in frustration.

_How is it that I know exactly what to say to a worthless suspect in an interview room, but I can't even begin to find the right words for her? _

With alarming speed, he found himself standing outside Laura's front door.

"Evening." She opened it, releasing a gentle onslaught of perfume upon his senses. The scent hit him with almost physical force, conjuring up a recent but hazy image of her in a softly lit room. He blinked it away.

"Hello." He forced a smile.

Laura stepped out of the house to join him on the front step and turned to lock the front door. Robbie found himself standing too close to her, trying to ignore the exposed nape of her neck as she bent to put the key into the lock. Involuntarily, he recalled the touch of his lips in that exact place, his nose in her hair. Once more, the smell of her made him feel unsteady.

He practically pounced off the step away from her. "Ready?" He chirped, with false cheer.

"Yep." She smiled hesitantly up at him, her face fresh with the subtle effort she placed into an evening out. She looked utterly and achingly beautiful and, in spite of everything, Robbie found himself lingering over their eye contact.

_Who could resist this? You fool, Robert Lewis. You fool._

He tore himself away and walked ahead to the car so he could open the passenger door for her.

Laura filled the journey with chatter, sensing, as she always did, his frame of mind. He was grateful to her, as ever. Yet, inside she felt wretched – it was now clear what he was building up to say to her. She just wanted it to be over and not have to sit through an entire music recital by his side: feeling the warm proximity of him yet knowing he could not be further away.

As they paused outside the porter's lodge to ask for directions to the college chapel, a group of rowdy, alcohol-fuelled summer students surged past them, man-handling an upturned punt, no doubt 'borrowed' from the river, onto the streets of Oxford. The space was not nearly big enough for the clumsy crowd and their cargo and Laura and Robbie were forced back against the wall. Instinctively, Robbie placed himself between her and the unwieldy boat and in doing so, inadvertently found himself with one arm around her – meant as a shield but suddenly feeling very much like something else.

Laura's cheeks flushed as her body reacted to his hold in a way her mind did not approve of. For a millisecond, she tortured herself with the cloudy but potent memory of the last time they were this close. She shut her eyes in a vain attempt to ward off the intense magnetism she felt towards him.

The students were failing spectacularly to manouvre the boat through the narrow door cut in the larger college gate and were being berated loudly by the porter, who was trying to open the bolts of the gate. Robbie gingerly withdrew his arm, but they remained pinned together.

"Sorry… I… er…" He began, speaking softly downwards to the top of her head.

"It's OK, Robbie." She murmured for what seemed like the millionth time in their friendship. She tried her very best to ignore the warmth of his body next to hers and the desperate longing for him to replace his arm around her.

With an ear-splitting cheer the students finally grappled the boat through the widened gate and spilled out onto the street.

As Robbie stepped backwards and the contact was lost, Laura steeled herself for an evening she was certain she was not going to enjoy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! Comments make writing way more fun, so thank you for taking the time. And... I don't mean to 'torture' you - it's just the way Robbie and Laura are in my head...**

* * *

The recital opened with the mournful lament of a cello concerto, entirely befitting Laura's mood. The music resonated, low and soulfully, in her mind, as she tried desperately to concentrate on anything but the person sitting beside her. His long legs stretched out in the left of her field of vision as he lolled awkwardly on the uncomfortable chapel bench. In a parallel universe, she might have reached out her hand gently to quell his distracted fiddling with the programme. But tonight she kept her hands to herself and made every effort to avoid any contact that would serve to remind her of their close encounter in the porter's lodge.

Robbie's mind wandered also – to the things he needed to say to Laura, to Val, to work -but it was brought stutteringly back to the present every time Laura shifted in her seat, sending a drift of her perfume his way and catapulting him back to the fateful night they'd shared almost two weeks ago. Permitted by the music to sit next to her in silence, his thoughts loitered guiltily over the snippets of sensation that his alcohol-addled brain had retained from that night: her head against his chest, her whisper in the darkness, their shared eagerness. He couldn't pretend he didn't remember it; couldn't blame it entirely on how much they'd had to drink. He had known exactly what he was doing – what he had so wanted to do in the heady balm of the summer's evening. The excess of alcohol had simply lifted the weight of reality temporarily from his shoulders – he'd felt normal for a moment and, for the first time in four long years, entirely consumed by an emotion other than grief.

He hated that he had felt so differently the next day. The thud of his conscience as it found him had made him sick to his stomach; their actions seeming so reckless in the cold light of day. He'd panicked and fled, hurting the only person he was close to. He detested himself but he couldn't shake it: partly the feeling of guilt, but also the far greater weight of dread. Because sleeping with Laura made him vulnerable: they'd crossed the line from being treasured friends to something more and that scared him beyond belief. Val had been gone for four years and the pain was still palpable. He didn't know if he had it in him to risk loving another person that much again. Yet he seemed helpless to the effect of Laura upon him: she was perfect. He'd been in love only once before but he knew the signs. He was falling for her and it terrified him. Not only would it mean saying goodbye to Val, but it also opened him up to the risks of loving someone again. What if he lost Laura? He simply could not go through that again. Any amount of loneliness was better than that…

And Laura deserved more, much more. She deserved someone as perfect as she was – not some ageing, frightened and emotionally defunct has-been. Her affection for Robbie baffled him. What did she see in him? So different was he to all her other suitors – the string of doctors, professors and high-flying businessmen who lined up to take her out. Yet, somehow her romantic encounters would always fizzle out; she and Robbie would end up down the pub as she made fun of herself over another dating disaster. Or at least as she perceived it. He'd console and reassure her, silently relieved that someone was not going to steal her from him, but utterly incapable of making a move himself. Rendered utterly redundant by the weight of his past.

This was what he somehow had to tell her this evening – he owed her that much at the very least.

The first half of the recital ended and the audience drifted out in into the college quad, which was smattered with fairy lights, glowing hazily as the dusk drew in. Robbie and Laura found a quiet corner and each gratefully accepted a glass of wine from a passing waitress. Robbie lowered himself to sit on a raised stone plant bed, bringing himself to eye level with her. They sipped their wine in self-conscious silence.

Laura acknowledged appreciatively the first rush of alcohol in her veins, sensing it gently begin to undo the knot in her stomach and calm the clatter of her heart. She attempted several remarks about the music and tried to ignore the agitation in Robbie's voice as he responded. Eventually she could stand it no longer.

"So… you said you wanted to talk?"

Robbie glanced around at the crowded quad, "Yeah. Maybe somewhere quieter after the recital?"

"Oh, Robbie. Let's forget about the recital. I'm not sure I can sit through another hour of wondering what you're going to say."

He seemed to agree and surprised her slightly by taking her hand and leading them to a secluded colonnade, away from the hustle and bustle of the quad.

He drew her towards him but stopped abruptly short of an embrace, before taking a deep breath.

She braced herself._ Here it comes. The "let's just be friends" speech. _

"Laura, I'm so sorry about the way I've behaved." Robbie began. "I've been an idiot. You're my oldest and dearest friend and you deserve better than that."

Laura noted his use of the 'f' word and felt her throat tighten in anticipation of what was coming.

"I know this is going to sound hurtful… and please, please just listen…" he squeezed her hands to try to pre-emptively assuage another angry outburst, "… but, in so many ways, I wish the other night hadn't happened." He felt her tense and pulled her closer towards him before continuing, "I'm worried we've ruined everything between us and I… I can't let that happen because your friendship is the single most important thing to me in the world."

Laura ducked her head as the inevitable tears began to form. _He doesn't want me. _Robbie winced:

"Hey… shhh… please, listen… this is exactly what I mean. I'm hurting you and I hate myself for it."

He drew her into his arms and she didn't resist. He spoke softly into her hair. "It's not that I didn't enjoy that night. Nothing could be further from the truth. I want to be with you so badly, it hurts..." He felt her gasp at this and held her tighter. "… but I just don't know how. I haven't properly let go of Val… I'm in emotional no man's land… but more than anything else, I'm completely terrified of being in love again."

He pulled backwards from her and gently lifted her chin, noting her frown as she absorbed the full extent of what he had just admitted. "You see, I know that's where I'm heading with you, Laura. I know it, because I've felt it before. I think you are utterly… utterly perfect." He stroked his thumb along her jawline and his fingertips slid into her hair. He stopped himself, sighing heavily before trying to continue:

"For so long, I thought this part of my life was over… I've become so used to being alone. I don't know if I'm capable of loving someone properly again. It frightens me so much. I'm… broken. You don't want to be with me. I can't give you what you deserve."

Two of Laura's tears fell heavily onto his jacket lapel. She found herself at an uncharacteristic loss for words, confused and helpless. He had said things she'd barely dared to dream he would, but it was all so hideously wrong.

"I'm a coward, Laura. I know that's what you're thinking and quite rightly: I'm too scared even to give it a try. But I needed to be honest with you… And I know it's too late. I should have said all of this before that night. I've been irresponsible and I really, really hope you can forgive me."

Laura sighed heavily, trying to take it all in. She closed her eyes in an attempt to steady the whirling dervish of her thoughts.

At length, she spoke, looking up at him with mascara-stained cheeks. "Robbie, you mustn't blame yourself entirely for that night."

She attempted a weak, but reassuring smile. "If we're pointing the finger, surely I have to hold up my hands and say I knew all about your emotional baggage and still went ahead. Perhaps a better friend would have said no."

"No… it was all my fault…"

"Shh. It's your turn to listen, Robbie." She prodded him gently in the chest. "And… whilst we're on the subject of falling for people… from my perspective that happened long before you spent the night, so you needn't beat yourself up too much on that account. Nothing about that night changed the way I felt… or feel… about you."

Robbie couldn't help a small smile at this admission - a welcome comfort in an otherwise agonising situation. She squeezed his hand:

"I'm grateful for your honesty. I know that this," She gestured at the small distance between them, "must be confusing for you. It's confusing the hell out of me and I haven't been through half of what you have in the past."

"But…" Laura looked up at him, properly, for the first time all evening, before continuing: "For the record, I don't think you're broken, Robbie. Because... if you were... we wouldn't even be having this conversation, would we?"

Robbie thought about this. He shrugged.

"Maybe you're just not ready."

"Maybe..."

They fell silent for a moment.

"But what if I'm never ready, Laura?"

Now it was her turn to shrug. "A lifetime of microwave meals for one?"

"What a depressing thought."

They laughed, hesitantly but genuinely.

"So we're still friends?" Robbie ventured, uncertainly, after a further pause.

"For now." She shrugged again.

His relief was palpable. He drew her back in for a hug.

"I meant what I said about you, Laura. You know that, don't you?" He held her tightly.

She smiled secretly against his chest. No doubt there would be much future analysis of this particular conversation, but for now she was simply content that they had articulated what felt like centuries of things unsaid. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wasn't trying to second guess Robert Lewis. She knew exactly where she stood.

Her cheeks coloured slightly as she chose to ignore his question. Instead, she withdrew from his arms and tugged his elbow in the direction of the college gate.

"I don't know about you, Inspector Lewis, but I really need a drink."

* * *

**Author's note**: tempted to leave it there, in limbo, as that would seem rather fitting for early Robson. However, I also quite fancy stirring them up a bit and seeing where it goes... we'll see.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely comments and encouragement to continue. I know it sounds very self-indulgent (because it is!), but comments make writing even more enjoyable, so ta very much. So, on we go with a little stir to start off with... and maybe it's time for a bit of plot, which I seem to keep forgetting about!**

* * *

Robbie and Laura surprised even themselves by the ease with which they slipped back into their old friendship: the banter was revived, the stolen coffee breaks were restored and they each experienced a renewed sense of security, safe in the knowledge of the other's regard. Although a great chasm still existed between their current state and that of a relationship, it simply felt good to know that neither was alone in what they were experiencing. They each had a wingman, albeit one who was a little emotionally muddled.

'Friends' was somehow good enough for each of them. For Laura, it allowed her time simply to relax with Robbie. Knowing how he felt for her enabled her to enjoy his attentions, rather than overanalyze his every word and deed. When he looked at her a certain way – his eyes slightly narrowed, a wry smile playing on his lips – it gave her a kick to know that he might be contemplating his attraction to her, albeit also battling his demons. He made excuses to touch her, she noticed – a nudge, a helping hand with her jacket – and she reveled in the warmth of the contact, content just to enjoy it for now. Her smiles were a little wider; her eyes a little brighter when directed his way.

For Robbie, it was slightly more painful. He ricocheted between immense gratitude for her understanding and sheer frustration with his own predicament. He physically ached for this beautiful, erudite and fiery little thing in front of him, but felt so helplessly bogged down by his former self. He'd sit opposite her in the pub, listening to her voice, losing track of what she was saying, and wondering how long her patience could last. He'd panic himself and become irritable, but even this didn't seem to deter her. She'd tease him to bring him round and, as a smile crept over his face, he'd almost have to sit on his hands to prevent them from pulling her towards him.

Of course, they each knew that this easiness had a lifespan. As every encounter grew more agreeable, as they lingered a little longer over the dregs of a coffee or a pint, the clear indication of their more-than-friendship would become more difficult to ignore. Yet, try as he might to convince himself otherwise, for now it was all Robbie could give and Laura was happy to accept.

Frustration for Robbie was not isolated to his personal life. Over a week passed by with no further leads on the priest's murder. Nora Blakely, the activist and recipient of Father O'Reilly's inflammatory letters, had disappeared. The number of officers working to find her grew daily and Robbie and Hathaway were drawing closer and closer to a dead end until, one muggy Sunday two weeks later, her body was found dumped in dense forest on the outskirts of Oxford.

It was late morning and, unusually, Laura was still in bed when her pager went off. She was curled up, fully submerged under the duvet, eyes squeezed shut, but wide awake and hoping that the world would go away. When she moved, her head span and her stomach lurched. She had yet to diagnose either a virus or a spot of food poisoning following a questionable Chinese takeaway – largely because every time she thought about the latter, she felt something try to rise in her throat. She swore loudly when her insistent pager forced her to emerge from her little sick bed cocoon. Dragging herself upwards to silence it, she hobbled to the bathroom and ran the cold tap, trying to steady herself against the sink. A normal person would ring in sick, but Laura was a doctor. Doctors didn't do sick. She responded to the call and hauled herself into the shower.

Elsewhere, Robbie had a spring in his step: whilst unfortunate for the victim, the body potentially signaled a development in the investigation of the priest's murder. Hathaway and he hadn't dared to place bets on the identity of the body when his sergeant had rung to make travel arrangements to the scene: it _had _to be Nora Blakely.

Laura heard the crunch of their car on the woodland track as the detectives arrived the scene, but did not look up. Her energy was consumed in ignoring the churn of her stomach and the sheen of sweat that was developing on her skin beneath her overalls. She wiped the back of her sleeve over her forehead before continuing with her examination of the body, hoping she didn't look quite as atrocious as she felt.

"What've we got, Laura?" Robbie's face emerged cheerfully over the top of the ditch in which she was working. "Please tell me it's a dark-haired female in her 30s!"

His cheer faded slightly as he caught sight of Laura's ashen face, but he held his tongue.

"The body certainly seems to match the description. It's been here a few weeks – maybe four – wrapped up in some old carpet… and, as you can see… it has decomposed fairly rapidly in the hot weather."

"Perhaps she was killed at a similar time to Father O'Reilly?" Hathway's expression of displeasure at the sight in front of him matched how Laura felt inwardly.

"The timings might not be far off, James, no."

"Cause of death?"

"Not sure yet, but I'm guessing either head trauma or strangulation… evidence of both so far."

Laura succeeded in loosening a further piece of carpet from around the victim's torso and a fresh wave of the stench of rancid flesh hit her nostrils. She tried, and failed, to hide the involuntary reaction in her chest as it heaved.

"Are you OK, Doctor Hobson?" Hathaway asked. "You've gone a similar colour to the corpse…"

"I'm…" Laura failed to finish as another retch forced open her throat. "Would you excuse me a minute?"

She covered her mouth and scrambled up out of the ditch and into the bushes.

"Laura?" Robbie called after her. He looked at Hathaway.

"Shall I go after her?" Hathaway offered.

"No, you see what you can get from the rest of forensics, I'll see to Doctor Hobson."

Tentatively, being eager not to invade her privacy, Robbie followed Laura's path into the bushes. He found her leaning against a tree, clutching her stomach.

"You ok?" He asked, gently.

"I'm fine." Laura tried to straighten up, but the forest floor seemed to tilt. "I think I've eaten something dodgy. Food poisoning. I had a bit of a funny tasting Chinese…" The very thought of it made her vision go a little blurry.

"You should go home, Laura."

"No."

"Yes."

Another involuntary retch made it futile for her to protest.

"We'll get Rawbone in, don't worry."

She nodded meekly, clinging to the tree to steady herself. Robbie grimaced at the sight of her.

"If you can wait a few minutes, I'll drive you. Hathaway can stay on site and I've got to go back to the station anyway to update Innocent."

"Thanks, Robbie." Her voice sounded far away against the roaring in her ears.

"Do you need a hand to the car?"

"No, I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."

* * *

Laura held her head against the dashboard in the passenger seat of Robbie's car. Another intense wave of sickness had passed and she felt totally embarrassed. She'd never felt like that at a crime scene before. At length, the driver's door opened and Robbie was soon sitting beside her.

"How are you doing?" In the privacy of the car, his voice was warmer.

"I can't believe I had to leave a crime scene. I've never done that before. Ever!"

"You're poorly, Laura. You shouldn't even be here. Don't worry – everyone understands."

"I feel disgusting." She murmured.

"You do look pretty peaky."

"Oi."

Robbie swallowed a smile, "Come on, let's get you home. I've given your car keys to Hathaway. Uniform will see him back to yours and then the station."

"Thanks, Robbie."

"Don't mention it."

As Robbie's car pulled up outside her house, Laura awoke, having dozed slightly on the journey back. Robbie came round to the passenger side to help her from her seat. She stumbled groggily up the path to her front door and, wordlessly, he followed her inside.

She immediately tried to settle on the sofa, but Robbie peeled her from it, gently leading her upstairs to her room instead. "You'll sleep better in here." He said, simply.

He straightened out the duvet and drew the curtains.

"I'll go get you a glass of water whilst you get changed." He said softly from the doorway. "Is there anything else you need?"

She shook her head and another wave of nausea gripped her stomach.

"Be back in a minute."

She had just about managed to wriggle into her pyjamas when he reappeared at the doorway, bearing a glass of water and the washing up bowl.

"I'll just leave this by the bed - in case you don't make it to the bathroom…" He said apologetically, gesturing at the bowl.

Laura nodded before gingerly crawling between the sheets. "Urgh." She complained into her pillow.

Robbie hovered awkwardly, half-in half-out of the room. Whilst he was grateful that Laura was feeling too ill to find the situation strange, the smell of the room alone had been enough to awaken a barrage of unsettling memories of the last time he was here. He wanted to run again, but his concern for her stopped him. Instead, he went over and perched on the side of the bed.

"Get some rest, eh?" He squeezed her hand. "I need to get back to the station."

She nodded drowsily, her fringe sticking slightly to her damp forehead. He almost reached over to brush it back, but recovered himself just in time.

"Thanks for looking after me, Robbie." She mumbled.

"Not a problem." He smiled. "That's what friends are for."


	10. Chapter 10

**Just a little snippet whilst I decide where to take this...**

* * *

"So, she was pregnant?"

"Apparently so."

"How far along?"

"Ten to twelve weeks, give or take."

"And the father? Do we know whose child it was?"

"Not yet. We're running some tests to confirm. Is there any reason to suggest it was not her husband, Mr Blakely?"

"Perhaps."

Lewis was less keen on post mortems when Laura was not involved. Rawbone irritated him profusely.

"We'll be taking another statement from Mr Blakely now that his wife's body has been identified. We could ask him for a DNA sample then, Sir." Hathaway piped up.

"I'm sure he'll be delighted to oblige." Rawbone scoffed, heartily.

"Mmm." Hathaway flashed Rawbone one of his most supercilious smiles. "I'll get on to that now then, Sir." He turned back to Lewis.

"Thanks, James." Lewis was deep in thought. There had to be a connection between the two murders. To suggest a relationship had been ongoing between the two victims would involve casting some serious aspersions against a man of the cloth and, admittedly, none of the circumstantial evidence gathered so far appeared to support this theory. Yet, it was part and parcel of Lewis' job to expect the unexpected; to test the improbable. Perhaps his delicate questions for the bishop had not been so far from the mark and Nora Blakely had been more to Father O'Reilly than a parishioner. But somehow that seemed too neat a solution. He needed to clear his head.

Lewis thanked Rawbone and left the lab in search of his sounding board, given that Hathaway was otherwise engaged. After a brief enquiry, he found her stooped over a computer in one of the offices.

"Got time for a coffee?" He smiled as he leant around the doorframe.

She turned to him abruptly, looking startled.

"Oh… hello. Sorry, I was miles away."

"Engrossed in another grizzly conundrum?"

"Something like that." Laura's smile was slightly strained. Her face looked a little gaunt in the harsh artificial light of the office.

"Could I tear you away for 10 minutes?"

She hesitated.

"It's no bother if you're too busy – don't worry."

"No, it's not that…" She pressed her fingertips into the bridge of her nose, frowning a little.

There was a slight pause.

"Are you ok?" Robbie ventured. "Still feeling under the weather?"

Laura let out a barely perceptible sigh. "I'm fine, Robbie." He noticed she didn't look at him when she said this. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

"Listen, I may not be a doctor, but food poisoning can really take it out of you. Are you sure you should be back in work?"

Laura didn't answer, fixing him instead with her customary _Do you really think that's a sensible question?_ glare.

"OK, OK!" Robbie chuckled, "you're the boss. Just… um… looking out for you…" His voice trailed off as he searched in vain for a platonic alternative for what he really wanted to say.

"Yes, well, I can look out for myself, thank you very much."

"Oh, I don't doubt that Laura." He muttered, somewhat wistfully.

She threw him another glare. He looked at his shoes, resembling a self-conscious schoolboy.

"Sorry, Robbie." She relented. "I'm being a grump. Yes, I can spare ten minutes for coffee."

She slid from her chair and grabbed a cardigan that was hanging on the back of the door. The sleeve was inside out and, as she grappled with the fabric, he unconsciously helped her pull it on. His hand loitered for a moment between her shoulder and her neck and she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"You _sure_ you're OK?" He frowned a little.

For a split second, she allowed herself to enjoy the comforting warmth of his hand on her shoulder combined with the simple fact of his proximity. How nice it would be just to flop into his arms. But no, something was nagging at her subconscious, making her on edge. She shrugged it, and Robbie's hand, away, trying to ignore the deepening of his frown as she did so. All of a sudden the room felt claustrophobic. She had to get out.

* * *

**A/N: In my mind this story can go one of two ways. There's a more believable but pretty sad option, or a more improbable but hopefully brighter version (depending on how the latter pans out). The wider world is a bit gloomy at the moment, so I'm probably leaning towards something lighter... but I don't like to think that you'll be reading it thinking 'nah, that wouldn't happen'. This said, I think the whole premise (Chapter 1) of this story is UTTERLY unbelievable. The 'real' Robbie and Laura would never have done that. Not in a million years. Therefore, I kinda think that I strayed totally into AU, where anything can happen, from the outset and you kept on reading... so I should perhaps just carry on my merry way?**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: thank you for reviewing and responding to my musings about the way forward. I've decided on a course of action - and taken on board your good advice: this is AU, so I can do what I want. Whether this will take me to angst or fluff, only time will tell :) Thanks so much for reading. Much appreciated, you lovely people.**

* * *

The following day, Lewis was in Innocent's office, updating her on developments.

"So, the baby was not the victim's husband's?"

"No Ma'am."

"Any ideas?"

"One, possibly... I was going to ask if we could we run a check against Father O'Reilly's DNA?"

"The first victim. We could but it's a bit of a long shot, isn't it?" Innocent cocked her head slightly and pondered the suggestion. "Still, sometimes a shot in the dark is all you've got."

"Indeed, Ma'am." Lewis tried not to roll his eyes at the deliberately sarcastic look Innocent had thrown at him, clearly referring to the case in hand. "I'll get Hathaway onto it right away."

"How's the husband looking?"

"Distraught but…"

"Shifty?"

"His story isn't the most consistent."

"How did he react when you mentioned the pregnancy."

"Says he didn't know about it."

"Do you believe him?"

"Not sure, Ma'am."

"Why not?"

"He just didn't react the way I'd expect someone to when told their dead wife was pregnant. He seemed sort of passive."

"Perhaps it was the shock."

"Well, of course it must have been a shock…if he's telling the truth and he didn't know, that is. But normally that sort of news would bring out some emotion."

"And have you told him the baby was not his?"

"Not yet. Only just got the test results. I'm on my way to do that now."

"Well, you'd better get on."

"Yes, Ma'am."

He rose to leave.

"It's good to see you're a bit more back to your old self, Robbie."

"How do you mean, Ma'am?"

"You just seem a little less… melancholy."

"Nothing like a second body turning up to put a spring in yer step, eh?"

"I don't mean the murder." Innocent put down her pen.

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, Ma'am?"

"Well, I take it you managed to talk things through with that 'other person' you mentioned a little while ago?"

He hesitated.

"Er… something like that." He mumbled before making for the door, not entirely comfortable with the turn in conversation.

"Good. I'm glad. She _is_ a lovely 'other person', after all."

Lewis' cheeks coloured a little and he coughed uncomfortably.

"I don't know who you're talking about, Ma'am."

Innocent smirked.

"Sorry. I'm being nosey."

"With respect, Ma'am, yes you are."

Innocent pursed her lips. "Just want to see you happy, that's all." She paused. "Both of you."

Lewis flashed her a warning frown. "Let's not get carried away, Ma'am. This 'other person' and I are just colleagues… and good friends."

Innocent smiled. "Yes, of course, Lewis. Well, off you go. And please try not to mess this one up."

The ambiguity of her remark was perfectly deliberate and Lewis clearly understood.

"No, Ma'am." He muttered before escaping her office.

* * *

"Just popping out for some lunch." Laura's student, Natalie, stuck her head around the pathology office door. "Can I pick you up a sandwich?"

Laura had not eaten properly in over four days, yet her stomach objected vehemently to the prospect of lunch. "Thanks, Natalie. Maybe just a fruit salad?"

"Are you on some hardcore diet?!" Natalie teased.

"Nope…" Laura sighed. "Just not feeling very hungry yet - I'll pop out to get myself something more substantial later." She lied.

"OK." Natalie's tone softened. "Well, make sure you do. You'll be skin and bones!" She patted her own backside critically. "Whereas I on the other hand…"

Laura laughed. "Whereas you have every red-blooded male in the station mooning after you, young lady."

Natalie bit her lip, the words "Not _every_ red-blooded male" playing on the tip of her tongue. However, she decided against speaking them. Dr Hobson was her boss, after all, and lately a rather tetchy one at that.

"See you in a bit." Natalie smiled good-naturedly at Laura before disappearing out into another sunny midday in Oxford.

Laura turned her chair away from the computer screen to look out of the window. She sank her cheeks into her palms: she was exhausted. Perhaps the time had come to confront the nagging voice in her brain. With a slight churn of apprehension in her stomach, she extracted her purse from her desk drawer and reached for her jacket.

On the steps of the station she ran into Robbie. _For God's sake. _ Her cheeks flared as soon as she saw him and she prayed he wouldn't notice. She quickened her step so as to suggest she was in a hurry.

"Hullo, Dr Hobson." In contrast, Robbie slowed his pace and stopped on a lower step, blocking her path and bringing them to eye-level. He smiled widely at her; it was the kind of smile that would usually warm her insides, but today it was having the opposite effect.

"Hi, Robbie." She said with feigned cheer. "How are you getting on with the case?"

He shrugged, "Not too bad. We've just been to see our friend Mr Blakely again – to tell him about the baby."

Laura's stomach practically somersaulted.

"I see. How did he take it?"

"Strangely."

"Well… I suppose pregnancy is big enough news even when your wife is alive…" She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, her arms wrapping her jacket more tightly around her, ins pite of the warm air.

"Yes. When the baby's yours it is…"

She looked at him non-plussed.

"Sorry?"

"She'd been having an affair."

"Oh."

"Mr Blakely knew about it and had asked her to finish it, but it seems Mrs Blakely and her lover might have had a little 'accident'…"

Laura looked at Robbie so strangely he chuckled.

"It's not like you to be so judgmental, Laura!"

"What?"

"I mean the look of disdain on your face!"

Laura laughed, awkwardly. _It wasn't disdain, Robbie. _She was speechless.

"Anyway, Hathaway and I need to crack on." Robbie continued, obliviously. "Fancy a drink later?"

"Er… maybe."

"Okey dokey. I'll give you a ring if we finish at a reasonable hour."

She nodded, curtly, her wide eyes looking anywhere but at him, and walked away as calmly as she could towards the High Street.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: well, I decided which way this is going... let me know what you think. It's just what I find myself wanting to write about, so I thought that was the best choice. Thank you for reading, you lovely people. **

* * *

That evening, as she stood in the half-light of her bathroom, staring at three plastic sticks lined up on the windowsill, Laura Hobson fully understood the term 'blind panic'.

Her heart was clattering wildly against her ribcage and black spots began to appear in the periphery of her vision. She sat down unsteadily on the edge of her bath, placing two clammy palms on the cool porcelain. She was shaking.

She closed her eyes as a maelstrom of hot, frenzied emotions flurried through her, laced with the sickening cool of disbelief.

_Oh God._

She'd done three tests and they all showed the same improbable result.

_How could we have been so stupid?_

After five days of 'food-poisoning', Laura had become suspicious. Something within her had spoken of an unnerving possibility and, if she was honest, she had predicted the formation of these little pink lines long before she'd made it to the privacy of her own home after work. For the past few days, she had been trying to ignore the unusual tenderness in parts of her body, as well as the relentless fatigue. The previous night she had burst into tears over a sofa advert on the television. Together with the sickness, it all pointed towards something that you didn't have be a doctor to figure out.

Yet, one would have thought that a doctor, a 40-year-old one at that, would have more sense than to find herself in this predicament. One night stands between middle-aged people were not supposed to end this way. For goodness' sake, she had friends who had been trying for children for years and here she was in the aftermath of a single, silly accident. She cast her mind back to the hazy memories of that now evermore fateful evening, and scrabbled in her thoughts for any recollection of her thought process in terms of protection. The night's events had been unexpected – that was for certain. Of course, _he_ had not been prepared, and, having not exactly experienced a string of successful romances over the past few years, neither was she. Oddly… or perhaps completely predictably… they had not even mentioned the subject. The drunken, lustful abandon had wholly consumed them – she remembered that at least – and now the Gods of remote possibility were making her pay.

_You stupid, stupid idiot. _

She gripped the sides of the bathtub, her fingernails turning white with the force of her anger. Hot tears of frustrated embarrassment pricked at the back of her eyes and she groaned at the enormity of her own folly. Her life was potentially altered irrevocably as a result of one almighty mistake. What would happen to her? To her career? What would everyone say? Her friends? Her colleagues? How they would judge her!

Of course, her thought process, albeit unwieldy, was nonetheless skillfully ignoring the loudest alarm bell of all. She was deliberately avoiding addressing the most urgent and catastrophic concern, preferring instead to unpick the tangle of her own reaction first. Somehow, she felt that thinking of _him_ right at this moment would send her over the edge. But... how could she not think of him? Dark tendrils of terror slid up her back, gripping her insides, sending a familiar wave of nausea high into her throat. How was she going to manage this? _Could_ she manage this? Was it the right thing to do – bringing a child into the world in such circumstances? Was she capable of making the necessary sacrifices? Could she… do it alone?

_Robbie._

Try as she might to ignore it, his name was a pulsating persistence in her subconscious. She could almost taste the bitterness of regret as she contrasted what, in other circumstances, would have been a future fairytale ending to her daydreams, but was now a seething snake pit of complication. To be expecting his child should have been the most intensely happy turn of events she could ever have imagined… but by some sick twist of fate, she found herself terrified by it. Terrified of his reaction – he'd told her he was unready even for a gentle relationship. How would he react to this? He'd be angry, no doubt, and just as confused as she was. Then he'd be forced to do the right thing – the only way her beloved, reliable Robbie knew how – and stick by her. It would be a relationship built on unstable foundations of duty and propriety; a breeding ground for resentment and contempt.

The anger distilled painfully down into sadness, and searing, salty tears spilled down her cheeks. A waterlogged sob rose in her throat as she pictured how his face would change when she told him, accompanied by another, louder blub as she imagined how irrevocably everything would alter between them. After all this time of looking out for him, she was going to turn his world upside down. In an instant.

_I'm sorry, Robbie._

What was she going to do? What were _they_ going to do? Was there even going to be a 'them' to consider? The one rational thought that she could muster was that she needed to have all of this straight in her head before she even considered telling him. She needed to decide how she felt and whether she felt capable of taking this forward. She needed a plan, so that he didn't feel in any way obligated… or trapped...

Laura took a long, deep breath. She dried her eyes, summoning the strength that had kept her going in countless grizzly crises at work, and the practicality that drove her on when emotions ran high. Hurriedly, she gathered up the pregnancy tests lined up on the windowsill and sealed them in a makeup bag, tucked safely at the back of the bathroom cabinet. Out of sight, out of mind? Unlikely. She splashed cool water on her face and breathed deeply, letting the breath penetrate the tight furl of anxiety in her stomach. She straightened the bathroom, as if to banish evidence of what had happened, and, reassured by the routine, proceeded to tidy the rest of the upstairs.

As she stepped into her bedroom to gather several shirts for the wash, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. Her face was still red from crying and she looked abominably tired, but her eyes were drawn lower… down to her middle. Involuntarily, she placed a cautious hand over her abdomen. For the first time in five long days, she permitted a quiet emotion to emerge to the surface; to be heard through the cacophony of remonstration and regret:

Awe.

She looked down at her hand resting on her stomach and for a millisecond the raging tumult within her subsided. She took in a shallow, tingly breath and an entirely different sensation skittered upwards in her chest. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it felt like a strange mix between how she felt when Robbie smiled at her and a somewhat deeper ache of longing. She caught the corner of her lower lip between her teeth as an effervescent flare of pure wonder made her gasp slightly, grappling with the icy disbelief of a few moments ago. Was this really happening? Was she really facing the prospect of something of which she had long since given up hope?

_Might there one day soon be a little someone who calls me mummy?_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: thank you for the lovely comments. I'm glad some of you liked and understood the last chapter. In my mind, Laura is a more complex character than she often gets credit for on screen, so that was how I imagined her reaction. Thanks for tolerating me going off piste with a situation that would never have happened in 'real' Robson life. **

* * *

Lewis and Hathaway had called the second victim's husband into the station for further questioning. Mr Blakely sat, vacantly, in the interview room, nursing a polystyrene cup of tea, as Hathaway, Lewis and Innocent observed him through the mirrored glass.

"You're getting nowhere fast, boys." Innocent's voice was clipped as she spoke to their reflections in the glass, keeping a firm eye on Mr Blakely.

Lewis and Hathaway shared an uncomfortable glance.

"Do we think he did it?"

"His alibi doesn't entirely stack up."

"But we've got nothing else on him?"

Another disconcerted look was shared between the two detectives.

"No, Ma'am."

"No murder weapon?"

"No, but Hobson and Rawbone's reports for the two victims suggest the same weapon could have been used in both murders."

"So… ideally we would _find_ it."

"Yes, Ma'am. We're doing our best."

"Well you need to work a bit harder. Somehow, Lewis, I doubt that your technique of 'accidental solution' is going to cut mustard in this case."

Lewis raised his eyebrows. The Chief Super was on particularly poisonous form today.

There was a knock at the door and a constable entered.

"Sorry to interrupt, Ma'am, but the DNA test has come back for the first victim, Father O'Reilly."

"Was he the father of Nora Blakely's baby?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Brilliant! Another of your shots completely off the mark…" She turned to Lewis, who opened his mouth to object before the constable spoke again:

"He's not the father, but there _was_ a familial match, Ma'am. He was related to the foetus."

Lewis smirked. "Thank you, Constable Johnson. Can I see the results?"

"Certainly. I've printed you a copy and Rawbone's explanatory cover email."

"Much appreciated."

This time Lewis shared a more confident smile with his sergeant.

"Father O'Reilly had a brother, didn't he? Is he local? Do we know where he is?" Innocent ploughed on with her questions.

"Yes, Ma'am. We spoke to him and his wife, the bishop's housekeeper, shortly after Father O'Reilly's murder."

"Let's get them both in. And let's leave Mr Blakely to stew a bit longer and then spill the beans about possible father of his wife's love child – see if we can get a reaction."

"Yes, Ma'am. But I just need to make sense of Rawbone's report on the DNA before we speak to them."

"Let me see it." She took the report from Lewis and read it, a frown quickly forming on her face. "Is this written in English?!" She blustered. "Honestly, these pathologists. How am I meant to understand _that_?" She stabbed her finger at Rawbone's email. "Right… Hathaway get Mr and Mrs O'Reilly in and Lewis speak to Rawbone about this ridiculous report and what it's actually saying."

Moments later, Laura's office phone chirruped into life.

"Hobson." She answered.

"Laura, hi. It's me." A cold sweat prickled the back of her neck. She had not been expecting _his_ voice on the other line.

"Hi… Robbie."

"I need your help with something."

"Oh?" She had been hoping to keep a low profile for a few more days yet. _  
_

"Rawbone's sent an indecipherable cover email on the DNA testing of Nora Blakely's baby."

Laura scrunched up her face, glad that Robbie couldn't see her. She really did not want to talk to Robbie about the paternity of babies just now.

"No change there then. And what do you want me to do?"

"Tell me what it means?"

"But it's Rawbone's report – can't you ask him?"

"He'll just bamboozle me with more pathologist's patter…"

"And you don't want to look stupid? Don't be so macho…"

"I'm not being macho. You bamboozle me with pathologist's patter all the time…"

She couldn't help a slight smile at this. She rolled her eyes as he continued:

"But you're also very good at giving me the 'Noddy' version. Explaining things so even my little brain understands."

"Well... some things are easier to explain than others." She winced slightly at the unknown clarity of her insight.

"So, is that a yes, then?"

She sighed. "Go on. Forward me the email."

He hesitated. "Er…"

"Robbie, one day you will have to learn how to use a computer, you know that don't you?!"

"I can use a computer. I just thought it would be easier to pop down to see you with it."

"Er..." Now Laura hesitated. _No. NO. I don't want to see you. Not yet._

"Not quick enough to think of an excuse?" He laughed, teasingly, his objective being completely the opposite of hers. "I'll be down in a minute. I won't keep you long, I promise."

Laura sighed, resignedly. "See you in a bit, then."

* * *

Laura looked over the report and Robbie watched her intently. If he wasn't so caught up in a murder investigation, he might have given more thought to how tired and anxious she looked, but today he was too distracted, too engrossed in the case. He tried to wait patiently, but he was keen to get back to the interview room. He tapped his foot involuntarily.

She shot him a look. "Easy tiger." She was glad her voice sounded calmer than she felt upon seeing him for the first time since her little discovery. Mercifully, she had the incoherency of Rawbone's report to focus upon instead.

"Sorry, it's just I need to get back."

She returned to the first page of the report and looked up at him, grateful to find her thoughts in full professional flow. "Basically, it's as you thought. There's a familial match on the DNA but Father O'Reilly was not the…father." Her tongue lingered for a microsecond over the final word. She frowned slightly and looked back at the report.

"So what the hell has Rawbone written all that other stuff for? All the long words and 'notwithstandings' and 'therefores'…?"

"It's just the biochemistry behind it. You don't really need that for the purposes of the investigation… but I can explain it to you if you like?"

"Er… Maybe another time..." Genetics had never been Robbie's forte.

"Did Father O'Reilly have any brothers?"

"One. Hathaway's en route to bringing him in for questioning."

"So... he's maybe got a bit of a bombshell coming?"

Robbie paused. "I'd say so, yes."

Laura handed back the report. He smiled in thanks. "Shame you couldn't make that drink last night." He mused, quietly.

She laughed gently at the irony, recalling her own little bombshell. "Sorry," She gestured at her desk. "All work and no play makes Laura a dull girl."

"Never." He winked almost imperceptibly and his wry smile went some way towards soothing the knot in her stomach.

She tried to smile back.

"Well, I'd best be off. Would you mind giving Rawbone a head's up that we'll need a DNA test on Father O'Reilly's brother cross matched to foetal remains ASAP?"

"Er, you seem to have me confused with your secretary, Robbie."

"Please?" He tilted his head to one side and invoked his best puppy dog eyes. "I wouldn't normally ask, but I think the next few hours are going to be a little hectic."

She tutted and shook her head. "Go on, then." She picked up her phone to call Rawbone.

"Thanks, Laura. What _would_ I do without you?"

* * *

Robbie's phone vibrated on the way back to the interview suite.

_'__Rawbone's on a call out, but I can oversee the brother's paternity test if you need. L'_

He read her text and smiled before replying.

_'__Thanks. I owe you a drink once this blasted case is over.'_

Laura sighed. One thing was for certain: he'd be needing more than a drink once _this_ case was over.


	14. Chapter 14

Later that afternoon, as had become standard daily procedure over the past week, Laura was busily emptying the sparse contents of her stomach into the staff toilets at the mortuary. Her knees grazed the tile grouting of the floor, one elbow taking her weight on the seat, the other hand trying in vain to keep her hair from her face. Vomit stung in her nose and throat, causing her eyes to stream. She coughed repeatedly, as the force of the retching made her want to cry. She'd given up trying to be quiet: she was simply exhausted with the whole rigmarole.

At length, the involuntary convulsing of her insides ceased, and she sat back clumsily against the cubicle door. Her breathing began to steady and she tried to ignore the acidic tang consuming her senses. She hated being sick. She wasn't very good at it. Some people seemed to have the knack of a carefree vomit, but Laura was not one of them; she'd resist the nausea until the very last minute, caving to its power only once she had no other choice. She _hated_ feeling so helpless and vulnerable. Staring at the increasingly familiar sight of the toilet bowl and shaking with the adrenaline awash in her veins, she'd never felt so utterly pathetic and alone.

She closed her eyes, grateful for the chill of the cubicle door on her back. She wanted to get up and on with things, but she was just so tired…

Eventually, she summoned the energy to scramble up from her crumpled position on the floor and sneak cautiously out to the communal sinks, noting with relief that she did not have company. She looked at herself in the mirror – her skin was a pallid shade that complimented the green of her scrubs and her fringe was clinging to the clamminess of her forehead. What a picture. Hurriedly, she splashed cool water over her face before trying to encourage some colour into her cheeks. She braced herself, drawing herself up to full height in the mirror, before heading out into the corridor and slap-bang into…

Robbie.

"Hello…" She frowned slightly, startled by his presence. He was leaning against the noticeboard outside the ladies', almost as if he had been waiting for her.

He didn't respond immediately, but looked at her carefully. "Hi."

She threw him a questioning glare.

"I came to see you about the DNA results..." He began by way of explanation.

"And you thought I might have hidden them in the toilet?"

"No..."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Well, I..."

"Couldn't you have waited in my office?"

"I _did_ wait in your office…"

Laura swallowed.

"… for almost 20 minutes."

"Wow. What a spectacularly productive use of police time."

"Laura... " His voice sounded tired. _This bloody case._ "I'm sorry. It's just I bumped into Natalie and she asked me if you were ok."

A paranoid whisper began to make itself heard in Laura's brain. "And why wouldn't I be?" She snapped.

Robbie's face coloured slightly as her voice rose. He hovered closer to her, but then thought better of it, stepping backwards. "Natalie was concerned. She clearly didn't want to mention it to me, but she's worried about you. She said you haven't been eating and she asked if I knew if there was anything wrong… "

"For God's sake! That's none of her bloody business!" Laura exploded.

"Perhaps not, but she is your student and working closely with you." He tried to soothe her. "So you haven't been eating?" The question was innately incisive.

Laura's icy blue eyes scorched with indignation. "I _have_ been eating. I've just been a bit off colour, that's all. And what's it got to do with you, anyway?" She almost sneered. The irony of her question wasn't lost on her, but she sure as hell wasn't having that particular conversation in the mortuary corridor.

He studied her face. She didn't look right: she was pale and, if he wasn't mistaken, a little more swamped by her scrubs than usual. Something was wrong. _Why else would she be so defensive?_ She wouldn't talk to him here, that much he could sense. He needed to get her away. If only he wasn't in the middle of this blasted murder investigation…

He relented, holding up his hands. "OK, OK – point taken."

"Honestly, Robbie!" She bristled with anger.

He dropped his voice and stepped closer to her, quickly scanning the corridor to check they were alone. He steeled himself to touch her, gently, on the elbow. "Laura, I'm sorry. You're right. It's none of my business but just tell me you're OK. I'm not asking for details, I just need to know you're OK."

She pursed her lips as she looked up at him, arms folded, torn between her indignation and surprise at the absence of his usual obliviousness. "I'm fine, Robbie."

"Promise?" He squeezed her elbow gently.

She bit her lip and nodded. She felt an unfamiliar and overwhelming urge to cry. "We should have the DNA results by now. They were due by 4. I'll check my email." Her voice wobbled, but she hoped the change of subject might help her to recover her composure.

Robbie nodded, the change in subject not helping him one jot. As Laura led him back to her office, he found it impossible to concentrate on the case. She walked several steps ahead of him, with her shoulders raised and tense. He could almost feel the bristling of her defences.

Back at her desk, she spoke to her computer screen rather than to him, tapping furiously at the keys. "It's a match for the brother. He's the father."

"I knew it! Great." His face attempted enthusiasm but his tone lacked any conviction.

Laura turned to him, wearily. "You'd better get back upstairs then."

He hesitated. He really had to go. "Yeah… "

Robbie looked down at her, his eyes searching hers for a clue. Being usually unperturbed by a crisis, he felt an unfamiliar throb of anxiety. "Laura?"

"Yep?" She was already busying herself with further paperwork.

"You know where I am… if you, er, need me, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine Robbie. Honestly. Just get back to the case."

Robbie headed back to his office in a world of his own; his concern for Laura was matched only by his sense of confusion. Of course, he'd been on the receiving end of her barbed hackles and acerbic tongue before, but this time felt different. The way _he_ felt felt different. Gingerly, he tried to put his finger on the exact emotion. It seemed distantly familiar.

His reverie was brought to an abrupt end by Hathaway storming down the corridor towards him. "Sir..."


	15. Chapter 15

"Sir…?" Hathaway came to an agitated halt in front of Lewis, thrusting his lanky arms into his suit jacket and straightening his tie.

"Yeah?"

"Mr Blakely has turned up downstairs. Says he wants to make a further statement."

"Does he? Good." Lewis remained rooted to the spot.

Hathaway looked at him quizzically.

"Are you … going to come with me?"

"Yeah… yeah, of course."

Hathaway motioned in the direction and they turned towards the interview suite.

"So did Doctor Hobson have any interesting news?"

"What?"

Hathaway regarded his boss carefully as they walked. His expression bore his trademark 'game' face (the nickname they used when they were thinking about a case) yet somehow the inspector's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

"About the DNA results? The paternity test for Nora's baby?"

"Oh... Yeah." Lewis shook his head almost imperceptibly as though he was trying to shake off whatever was on his mind. "Yes… there was a match for James O'Reilly, brother of our dead priest."

"So what are we going to do?"

"See what Nora's husband has to say first. It's interesting he wants to see us again. Perhaps he 'forgot' to tell us something vital about his wife's murder."

"Perhaps."

"Then we need to put the results of the paternity test to Mr O'Reilly. We should go to pick him up. Have a look around. Watch how he and Mrs O'Reilly are behaving."

"Yes, Sir."

"James?"

"Yes?"

"We need to get this case sorted."

Hathaway hesitated. It was unlike his boss to say something so obvious.

"Feeling the pressure, Sir?"

"Eh?"

"I meant with Our Leader breathing down our necks."

"Something like that."

* * *

In the interview room, Lewis recorded the date and time and then Mr Blakely began a lengthy monologue, in stark contrast to his clipped responses to earlier questioning. He explained how he and his murdered wife had been childhood sweethearts who met at the local church youth club. They had married young. Mrs Blakely, Nora, had been brought up as a practising Catholic and had always had a strong faith, but as she got older, she had begun to question some of the Church's teachings. She studied theology at university, but, incongruously, also became involved in various activist societies, including pro-life movements. Mr Blakely was keen to stress that his wife maintained her faith throughout: she loved the Church, but regarded some of its attitudes to be outmoded. She did not regard a Catholic faith and a liberal mind to be mutually exclusive characteristics and longed for the modernisation of her beloved Church. Last year, she had joined a society that called itself the 'Liberal Left Foot': its members being Catholics campaigning for change in the conservative attitudes of the Church. This had caused quite a stir in the local parish, over which the murdered Father O'Reilly had presided, and the police had seen the priest's own response in the form of his heated letters to Nora.

Nora had begun to spend increasing time away from home, investing considerable effort into the activities of the Liberal Left Foot. She was often away overnight, or for longer periods of time. Having known her since childhood, Mr Blakely was accustomed to his wife's heart-on-sleeve, drop-everything-for-a-cause attitude. He told Lewis and Hathaway of the times she had tied herself to railings and travelled to far off cities to march in protest for various objectives. She was a sucker for a cause and, generally speaking, he felt her heart was in the right place. She believed in change for the good. She believed in it so passionately…

Yes, Nora was a passionate woman and Mr Blakely had always felt that he had been a somewhat unsuitable match for her; especially as they got older. She'd tease him for being so 'vanilla' when he could not emulate her enthusiasm for a campaign, and, when it came to issues involving the Church, they would argue furiously. Mr Blakely was a quiet, suitably guilt-ridden Catholic. Whilst he agreed with many of his wife's rants against some of the Church's teachings, he was reluctant to put his head above the parapet and protest: that was not his job. He had his own relationship with God and, like many others in the parish, he opted for the quiet life. This infuriated Nora. The quiet life was not for her and over the years, he felt they had grown apart. They had not made love since her penultimate birthday, over one and a half years ago. Strangely enough for two people of such strong faith, theirs was not the kind of fruitful marriage that their Church advocated.

Thus, whilst unpleasant, it was not exactly a surprise to find out that wife was having an affair…

"So you knew about your wife's affair?" Lewis interjected.

Mr Blakely nodded and sighed.

"So why didn't you tell us before?"

"Because I knew it would give me a possible motive to have murdered my wife, which…" and here his voice began to crack, "I did not do."

Lewis eyed Mr Blakely carefully.

"So why tell us now?"

"I went to confession and was advised by the priest to examine my conscience."

Lewis and Hathaway shared a look.

"Plus," Mr Blakely continued, "I realised that this information might be relevant to your enquiries and help you to find the bastard that did this to my beautiful Nora."

Lewis frowned ponderously and folded his arms. "So… how did you find out about the affair?"

Mr Blakely sighed, clearly fighting back tears. "It became… _obvious_."

"Sorry, I'm not sure I follow. How do you mean, obvious?"

"She was pregnant... and we hadn't slept together in over a year."

"So, your wife told you she was pregnant by another man?"

"No."

"Then how did you find out?"

"That's what I mean: it was _obvious_. She suddenly went off certain foods, she stopped drinking, she'd sneak out of bed in the mornings to vomit, she was tired all the time... you, know - the usual signs."

An abrupt heat prickled suddenly at the back of Lewis' neck. He opened his mouth to continue questioning, but no sound came. Hathaway's face twitched almost imperceptibly with a frown before he took over:

"Did you confront your wife about the pregnancy?"

"Yes." Mr Blakely's face began to crease as the tears came in earnest. "I did. We argued. She left the house and... I never saw her again."

* * *

Outside the interview room, Lewis and Hathaway briefed Innocent on Mr Blakely's altered statement.

"And do we believe him?" Innocent quipped, superciliously.

"I think so, yes, Ma'am."

"So if our second murder victim was having an affair which left her pregnant and stormed off after her husband confronted her about it, never to be seen again, the likelihood is she went to see her lover and, as Dr Hobson has confirmed, the father of her child."

Lewis felt suddenly sick. He nodded hesitantly.

"James O'Reilly." Hathaway interjected.

"And where is our Mr O'Reilly now?"

"Hopefully at home, Ma'am, where we asked him to stay until further notice when he left after giving an initial statement this morning."

"So… what are you two still doing here?" Innocent raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Hathaway looked at Lewis who was staring blankly at the water cooler.

"We'll get going straight away, Ma'am." Hathaway attempted his best simpering smile, which Innocent returned with a sarcastic smirk.

* * *

"Are you OK, Sir?"

Hathaway struggled to keep up with Lewis as he stormed down the corridor.

"Yeah." Lewis lied. "Why?"

"Forgive me, but you seem a little distracted."

Lewis paused and looked carefully at his junior. His mind was going haywire. For all that was going on in the case, he could think of only one thing. It took physical effort to force his thoughts back to the investigation.

"Do I? Sorry. We're going to need a search warrant for the O'Reillys' house. Can you get someone to set that up?"

"Right away, Sir."

"I'll meet you by the car."

"Where are you going?"

"I… er… nature calls." Lewis lied for the second time.

Hathaway frowned, slightly bewildered by Lewis' behaviour. Still, this investigation had been stretching out for weeks. Perhaps it was finally getting to him.

* * *

Lewis charged clumsily down the stairs to the mortuary but stopped abruptly at its doors. His heart thumped violently against his ribcage, but not from exertion.

_Stop. _

_No. _

_No, no, no. This is all wrong. You can't do this now. You need to think about it. What if you're wrong? Maybe you're just clutching at straws. _

_...but what if you're right? You'll need time to discuss it, to deal with it properly. Time you haven't got right now. And work is hardly the place to address this. Don't put her through that. _Leave her be. _It'll have to wait. _

Reluctantly, he turned back, his chest tight with anxiety and his jaw set with agitation. The cacophonic blur of his thought process made his ears ring as he trudged outside to meet Hathaway.

Waiting in the car, Hathaway noted the direction from which Lewis approached, but instantly resolved not to mention it. As the case in hand so clearly demonstrated, the tangled web of human emotion and behaviour was sometimes unfathomable and, unless someone turned up dead, was often best left un-probed. This was especially so when one suspected one's boss had designs on an attractive pathologist, but had emerged from the mortuary with a look so chilling, it might cause hell to freeze over.

Clearly, it was going to be a long night.

* * *

**A/N: Apologies if that was a little bitty, but I needed some plot (Plot?! What plot?). Thanks for reading and for your lovely, encouraging reviews which I definitely don't deserve for the strange ramblings of my brain. However, they are very motivational and thought-provoking, which is fun because I'm posting this as I write it... so who knows what will happen!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: sorry for the delay. Work went NUTS. Absolutely bloomin' nuts. I hope this chapter works. I'm not 100% sure about it. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading and reviewing - comments are very much appreciated and very motivational... especially as I haven't written the next chapter yet!**

**To recap on the last chapter (as it's been so long): Robbie's getting a wee bit suspicious...**

* * *

Hathaway eased the car through the outskirts of Oxford at speed. As the houses flew by, the blur in Lewis' mind intensified.

_You can't possibly be right. She couldn't possibly be… from that one night. Could she? It seems so improbable. Then again, that's exactly how it had been with Lyn. A single, pre-wedding mishap - or 'happy accident' as Val had called it... all those years ago. But you were young then. Look at you now – a dinosaur – hardly a lothario. This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous. Putting two and two together and making seven. You should know better. Laura said she'd been off colour – that's probably all it is. You've just got the wrong end of the stick._

_And… even if your suspicions are correct, who's to say that 'that night' was the only night she's spent with anyone lately? If your job has taught you anything, it's that you can't assume anything about anyone. But, then again,… this is Laura: one of the only constants in your life. Constant not only in her friendship, but also in her honesty... even when you don't want to hear it. She wouldn't have told you she had feelings for you… or looked at you that way… if there was someone else on the scene. Would she? _

_Oh and then there's the familiar dead weight in the pit of your stomach. The tightening of your throat now you're thinking of Val: the bitter taste of regret. You know that emotion well, don't you? Old friends these past four years, still with its leaden grip on your heart. You're still here and she's gone. How is that fair? Ha! What if you are right about Laura? A baby with another woman? Talk about a monumental betrayal of your dead wife's memory. Moving on in spectacular style, only four years after her death. How the gossip mill at the station will churn. How the tongues will wag. _

_But, far more importantly, what will Lyn say? And Pat? God, you can't even bear to think about it…_

_But what are you afraid of? Their reaction? The gossip? Your conscience? You coward. Laura deserves better than that. Or are you just afraid of the unknown? Yes: the unknown. How __**would**__ it feel to have a meaningful existence again, beyond being a distant dad to two grown children, a relationship largely exercised over the telephone? How would it feel to allow a new someone into your life? Laura. Beautiful, brilliant, fierce and loyal Laura. You've told yourself a million times that she deserves better than you. Someone who doesn't need fixing. Someone without all your baggage. But what if this situation means you have to step up to the mark? To fix yourself. Somehow. To allow yourself to love her. Let's face it, you probably already do. You're so frightened. Scared stiff. But what if that's no longer an excuse? What if something has happened that's going to force you to face up to your demons? Are you man enough to do that?_

_That said, what if **she** doesn't want this? What if she doesn't want you? Have you thought about that? Are you prepared for her reaction? She's probably just as scared as you. Likely more so. And you've treated her so abysmally, who could blame her? Maybe she'll choose to walk away. Maybe it's too much to ask. Even of Laura. _

Thoughts rattled incoherently through his brain in a tormenting cycle, circling like vultures in his consciousness. Lost somewhere amongst them was a small bundle of memories that he would not allow himself even to entertain. Furiously, he blinked away the tender recollections of his children when they were little: Lyn aged 3 on the beach at Whitby, tottering about in a little yellow sundress, squealing with delight as she discovered the simple wonder of sand; Pat aged 6, covered in mud and grinning widely after his first football match. The all-consuming love he'd felt… and still did, every day, for his children. He shrugged off the vivid memory of their births: the amazement of holding a brand new person in his arms, tiny and squirming, and the stunning realisation that he was wholly responsible for them. The sudden conviction that he'd do anything for them: go to the ends of the earth if he had to. The feeling that his heart might burst with the overwhelming, gut-wrenching enormity of being a Dad. The pure and simple joy.

No, he didn't dare think about that.

He floundered helplessly in his own confusion. Yet, as they neared the O'Reillys' house, nestled in quaint Oxfordshire suburbia, the tumultuous rumble of his mind began to lessen as Robbie listened to the one part of him upon which he knew could rely: his instinct. He just had to see her. He needed to be with her, no matter what.

* * *

Hathaway rang the O'Reillys' doorbell and stepped back to wait beside Lewis for the door to be answered. Lewis had barely uttered a word on the journey, but Hathaway knew better than to pry. His senior officer would only open up unprompted, if at all.

Things seemed a little strained in the O'Reilly household, but that was hardly unexpected, given the circumstances. Mr O'Reilly had lost a brother in brutal circumstances and had now been given the news that he was the father of the murdered Mrs Blakely's unborn child. He looked utterly bemused by the macabre turn of events, his face pale and drawn as he stared out of the window. Mrs O'Reilly, the church housekeeper, was exhibiting similarly anxious behaviour, furiously polishing the household silver in the dining room when Lewis and Hathaway arrived. She stopped abruptly and closed the door to the dining room before offering the detectives a drink, which they declined, explaining that their call would be brief and it was likely that they would need to return to the station for further questioning. Lewis regarded the firmly closed dining room door before looking briefly at Hathaway, who promptly asked if he could use the 'facilities' whilst Lewis went into the sitting room to explain the next steps to Mr and Mrs O'Reilly.

As they waited for Hathaway to return, Lewis noted the religious paraphernalia that littered the sitting room: icons, crucifixes and literature. A well-thumbed edition of the Catechism of the Catholic church lay open on the coffee table; Mrs O'Reilly toyed agitatedly with the silver crucifix around her neck.

* * *

Back at the station, once out of earshot, Lewis questioned Hathaway:

"So… what was in the dining room?"

"An impressive collection of antique church silver, Sir. Polished to within an inch of its life, including a set of acolytes…"

Lewis rolled his eyes. "And, in ordinary English, acolytes are...?"

"Large candlestick holders used on the altar in church."

"I see where you're going with this. A 'heavy blunt object' perhaps…?" Lewis quoted the pathologists' assertions as to the likely nature of the murder weapon used on the two victims.

"Indeed. Usually acolytes come in sets of 2 or 4 - an even number for each side of the altar - but the O'Reillys appear to have only three. Of course, this would not in itself be suspicious, save for the fact that there is a clear mark on the sideboard where a fourth acolyte may have stood but is now no longer there."

"Interesting." Lewis raised his eyebrows. "How are we getting on with that warrant? I want the O'Reillys' house searched NOW."

* * *

Laura sat on her sofa, swamped in a blanket and hunched over her laptop in the dusky half-light. She had taken an early finish and brought work home so as to enjoy a reprieve from the overly concerned glances from Natalie, her student. She tried to focus on the email she was drafting, but her mind inevitably wandered, now that she was out of the office and back in the surroundings of her own existence. She looked round the pristine living room, decorated in shades of muted greys and cream. This was her life: ordered, quiet, calm. She liked it this way – there was something clinical about it – everything compartmentalized, her activities dictated only by her. Perhaps she wouldn't go so far as to say she was happy – who was these days? – but she was certainly content. She'd worked hard to establish herself professionally and, as a consequence, was perfectly comfortable financially speaking. She could do what she wanted when she wanted: holidays, the theatre, orchestra rehearsals, meeting up with friends. Ellen often asked if she was lonely, to which she'd respond sarcastically, but genuinely, in the negative. She didn't feel lonely: she was used to life this way. Ligeia would then scoff at Ellen and make some remark about the car crash of her own marriage, often looking at Laura with what she felt might be envy. However, Ellen was never convinced: Ellen, the hopeless romantic.

Laura sighed with resignation. There was nothing romantic about her current situation: that at least was certain. Whilst Ellen might regard it as the perfect opportunity for her and Robbie finally to cease their relentless dance of maybes, Laura's realist side knew better. This was a disaster waiting to happen. She pictured a future of a child being ferried between two separate households, its parents cordial and polite, but nothing more. Yet somehow, that didn't ring true, and she heard Ellen's voice in her ear, repeating something Laura had long ago admitted to her friend under considerable duress, and even greater influence of alcohol: Laura was in love with Robbie. She could never just be polite and cordial with _him_. And perhaps this was the greater tragedy... when he didn't feel the same way.

For the first time since all of this had begun, Laura allowed her mind to wander to Robbie. Robbie simply as _Robbie – _not as the reason for the very early stages of life inside her. The familiar achy swell rose in her chest as she pictured his face and his smile, and the feeling lurched deliciously as she remembered the feel of his arms around her, the smell of his clothes, the taste of his lips. That night, _that night_, they'd gone beyond contentment and she'd felt alive, albeit precariously, for the first time in so long. In the moment, he'd seemed happy too – only the sober light of day had brought him back to reality with a hefty thump.

How was she going to tell him? In spite of everything, she still felt the same overwhelming urge to protect him. But, unlike her feelings towards him, pregnancy was not something she could carry around in secret from him forever. Sooner or later, he would have to know. In the silence of her living room, she tried to make her teeth and tongue form the three words she'd need to deliver the blow of her news - just to hear herself say it aloud - but she failed even to form the first letters of his name. She dreaded what she anticipated would be the look on his face and his characteristic loss for words when it came to personal matters. Of course, he'd have no idea what to say… and that would hurt her all the more. Eventually, he'd form an opinion and then she'd have to listen: take on board the views of someone else when she was so used to acting alone. Her body tensed in anticipation of all that was to come.

Mercifully her exhaustion allowed her to drift into a slight doze and she awoke, disoriented by the darkness, to the rumble of her stomach accompanied, inexorably, by a miserable wave of nausea. She straightened herself and turned on the table lamp, trying to stave off the sickness in the pit of her stomach. She needed so desperately to eat, but she knew that would inevitably make her sick again. Perhaps dragging herself up to bed would be the best option.

The doorbell pierced the silence and startled her slightly. She padded into the hallway, squinting against the brightness of the hall light and pulled open the door. She almost jumped.

"Robbie."

"Hi."

"Wh…" She rubbed the back of her neck sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking up on you." Gone was the sheepish tone of his voice from earlier today, replaced by something more determined. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged, too tired to argue with him again.

"That good, eh?" He smiled and stepped upwards into the doorway, looking down at her drowsy appearance and tousled hair.

She tugged self-consciously at the faded, overstretched jumper she was wearing, and frowned slightly. "Haven't you got a case to be getting on with?"

He winked and dangled a plastic bag from the chip shop in front of her, "Aye, but a man's gotta eat."

She eyed the bag uncertainly, caught on a knife-edge between extreme hunger and intense nausea. He looked at her oddly before his expression reverted to its former joviality: "And so's a woman. Come on, Hobson – I've never known you turn down chips."

She looked up at him and for a split second felt an urge to throw her arms around him, the relentless torture of their age-old closeness being almost too much to bear in her exhausted state. Reluctantly, she stepped aside to let him in and he clomped purposefully into the kitchen.

As she found plates upon which he heaped the chips, she asked him briefly about the developments in the case. However, he didn't seem keen on talking about it: "I've got ten minutes for me dinner before heading back to the station. Let's not talk about work, eh?"

_What else is there to talk about?_ She wanted to ask.

He handed her a plate of steaming chips, moist with fat and vinegar. She eyed the food hungrily, but, as the vinegar hit her nostrils, it was not the salivation of hunger that formed in her mouth. She slammed the plate down on the table and ran to the bathroom upstairs.

Moments later, having not had not even had time to turn on the light, she knelt in the dark, slumped and trembling over the toilet, trying to recover her breathing as the toilet flushed. Sweat prickled on her neck and back as her stomach churned endlessly. Suddenly, the light went on in the hallway, casting a yellow ribbon of illumination into the bathroom. The ribbon of light widened slightly as the door was pushed open. She heard the creak of knee joints as someone sat down on the floor beside her and the reassuring motion of a hand rubbing her back. A glass of water was pressed into her trembling fingers and she took several mouthfuls and spat them out.

They sat there like that for what seemed like hours. The hand never left her back.

At length, she heard a voice say, gently. "Do you think that's it for now?"

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes as the vomit-induced adrenaline dissipated. She felt two arms encircle her, and pull her gently backwards to a sitting position in his lap, holding her firmly against a warm and sturdy chest. She was too tired to protest. She felt herself relax into him, the rigid tension of sickness beginning to subside.

Quietly, she began to cry.

"Hey… shh." His arms tightened around her as he rocked ever-so-slightly, keen not to upset her stomach once again. "You're OK... It's OK."

Her initially quiet tears progressed rapidly into sobs that consumed her entire body. Robbie gritted his teeth in anguish. _Just tell me._ He pleaded with her silently.

"It's not OK!" She wailed, wetly, into his shirt.

_Please, Laura. Just put us both out of this misery._ He held her ever more tightly in a vain hope of conveying his distress.

Noting his silence, the unfamiliar lack of probing questions, she stopped crying abruptly. She didn't want this to happen now: he needed to go. She didn't have a plan yet. She needed more time to think… but she was just so bloody tired.

"Robbie…" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Yes?" His heart began to hammer against his ribcage.

"Robbie… I'm pregnant."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: thanks for ****such thought-provoking reviews. Although it's an utter flight of fancy, I'm relieved this is ringing slightly true with your understanding of the characters. I'm really enjoying writing it (when pesky work doesn't get in the way) and, as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter - your comments often give me little ideas for the next and it's much more fun that way. **

* * *

_"Robbie… I'm pregnant."_

These were exactly the words he had expected; precisely the words he had been trying to precipitate by coming here. Yet somehow that didn't make it any easier. He felt the air leave his lungs as the shock hit.

Between his arms, he noticed that Laura was holding her breath also.

Waiting.

What should he say? He hadn't dared think this far ahead. How did you start such a life-altering conversation?

She withdrew slightly from his hold and looked up at him, the yellow glare from the hallway captured in her eyes and in the moistness of her cheeks. Their eyes locked and he felt that familiar magnetism towards her, magnified tenfold by the significance of the three words she'd just uttered. He'd never seen her look so frightened or unsure – he wanted so badly to help her, to do this right.

Honesty. That had to be the best way.

"I thought you might be." He said simply.

The expression of dread on her face changed to one of slight surprise, "You did?"

He squeezed her gently. "I know you find it hard to believe sometimes, but I didn't get my DI badge for nothing."

In spite of herself, she managed a cautious smile. Unusually, she felt at a loss for words. There was so much to be said, but so many potential pitfalls. With his arms around her, Robbie could feel the tension returning to her body. He longed to know how she felt about all this, but he knew it was going to take time for her to open up. He resumed the gentle tracing of circles on her back with his finger tips, grateful for her physical proximity whilst he struggled to find the right words for the situation - at the very least he could reassure her with his touch.

Silence hung whilst they both adjusted to the now shared secret.

"How long have you known?" He spoke into the darkness.

"Only a few days." She tensed again. "I was going to tell you as soon as I could… I just thought it would be better to wait until the case was over. But, as it turns out…"

"I'm glad you told me." He murmured. "This is far more important than work."

She sighed.

"Laura?" He hesitated, knowing he needed an answer to something, but not knowing how to ask.

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something that is going to seem like an awful question?"

She laughed through slightly gritted teeth. She knew exactly what he wanted to know. And who could really blame him. "You want to know if the baby is yours?"

Now it was Robbie's turn to sigh, a great wave of anguish leaving his chest. He paused. "Well… um… yes."

She did her best not to take it as an insult – it was a valid question – but it still hurt. "What do you think?"

"Laura, I'm sorry I had to ask but… I have no hold on you. You have no obligations towards me."

"It's OK, I understand." She began to shift away from him, wanting to get up, but he stopped her.

"No. Don't go."

Reluctantly, she stilled, but the air between them was starting to sour.

"Robbie, how can you say you have no hold on me?" She muttered, feeling the tears beginning again. "There's been no one else but you for years. You know that. Of course the baby's yours."

He felt his throat tighten as he received the confirmation he needed, spoken by the woman whom he knew deep down that he loved, but was too scared to admit it, even now. This was all such a mess. "I'm sorry," He mumbled. "I shouldn't have asked…"

Laura heard the crack in his voice and winced, the fog of confusion descending on them once again.

"I can't believe this is happening, Robbie." Her voice shook with exhaustion and anger. "I feel like some stupid teenager."

"Perhaps it wasn't our most sensible hour…" He agreed, recalling their recklessness.

"I don't know what to do."

"I suppose we just have to take it a day at a time."

"We?"

He looked down at her, desperately hoping that she was not proposing to do this without him. "Yes, we." His voice was firm, but distant. "Whatever you decide, I'll be here to support you. Every step of the way."

She sighed. _Support. I want so much more from you than that, Robbie. _

She nodded, finally wriggling free from his arms and standing up. "Thank you." She murmured. It almost seemed like a formality.

Robbie's heart sank. He'd messed up. Again. "Laura…"

"Robbie, I'm tired." She cut him off. "Let's leave this for now. I need to go to bed. And you should be getting back to the station."

His shoulders fell as she wandered from the room. He followed her downstairs, gathering his suit jacket from the kitchen. She held open the front door for him and he paused in the doorway.

"I know I've handled this badly..." He murmured, his voice full of regret.

Laura shrugged. She wasn't sure that she had dealt with it spectacularly well either.

"...but we will work it out." He squeezed her hand, sensing that she was too prickly for anything more.

"Hmm." She mumbled, non-committedly, and closed the door.

* * *

Fortunately for Robbie, and in contrast to his personal life, the investigation had begun to take a promising turn. He returned to the office just as Hathaway was being updated by telephone upon the results of the search of the O'Reillys' house.

"Sir, they've found the fourth acolyte… sorry, candle stick… in the O'Reillys' shed. It has been bleached and scrubbed to within an inch of its life."

"Where is it?"

"On its way into the station. Rawbone and Hobson will need to take a look… I know it's late but shall we call them in?"

Robbie hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to disturb Laura, but he knew she'd be livid if he left this to Rawbone, particularly when she had conducted the PM on the first victim.

"Yep. Can you deal with that, please?" He knew it seemed cowardly, but he felt that he and Laura needed space. "Then we'll speak to the O'Reillys again."

* * *

A while later, Rawbone and Laura had each confirmed that the acolyte was likely to have been used in the murders, although no traces of blood could be found upon it. Robbie sat opposite a defensive Mr O'Reilly in the interview room. The man looked frightened and bewildered as he was asked to examine the acolyte, wrapped in an evidence bag.

"Yes, that looks like one of the set we own." He sighed.

"And what if I tell you that there are strong indications that this was used to murder your brother and Mrs Blakely?"

Mr O'Reilly looked up at Robbie: his face was drawn, his eyes bleary. "I'd say that was awful."

Robbie deliberately let the silence hang.

"I didn't do it.' Mr O'Reilly looked at him, plaintively. "I didn't kill my brother." His lower lip started to tremble as his eyes filled. "And I would never have laid a finger on… on her."

"Nora?"

Mr O'Reilly began to sob and, to Robbie, the tears looked relatively convincing. "I loved her. More than anything else. She was pregnant with my child, for God's sake."

"But you didn't know that until after she was murdered…"

"I know." Mr O'Reilly almost spat the words out with regret. "If I had known, I'd have been by her side every second and maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"You'd have left your wife?"

"Our marriage has been unhappy for some time. I'm not trying to excuse myself. But I'm not a monster. I worshipped the ground that Nora walked on and if I could do anything to get her back…" Furiously, he wiped the tears from his eyes. "We could have been so happy. A family. I'd have had a child. With Nora. Do you know how happy that would have made me? I'd have been the luckiest man in the world."

Robbie frowned slightly, the words unintentionally hitting him where it hurt.

"Life is a gift, Inspector. I know you probably think that's religious mumbo jumbo, but it's true. I didn't know how much I wanted that child until it was taken from me. How important and precious that little life was… and how unbelievably lucky I was to have had that chance… with the woman I loved."

Robbie swallowed and for once, he was the one left looking uncomfortable in an interview room.

"I didn't kill them." Mr O'Reilly continued through gritted teeth. "I didn't lay a finger on either of them. But… do what you want with me. It's all over. There's no point now she's gone. Now the baby's gone. My life is over."

* * *

Minutes later, Robbie sat in his office in the semi-darkness, Mr O'Reilly's words ringing in his ears. He held the framed photo of Val in his hand, wiping away the thin film of dust from the glass with his thumb. He exhaled, shakily.

Hathaway emerged in the doorway, obviously surprised to find his senior officer sitting in the dark. He eyed the photo frame astutely before clearing his throat:

"Everything OK, Sir?"

Robbie started. The professional answer danced on the tip of his tongue, but, for some reason, a different one came out, "Not really, James, no."

Hathaway carefully manouvred himself into the darkened room and shut the door. The light from the corridor enabled him to see Lewis' face and, if he wasn't mistaken, his eyes looked decidedly moist.

"Is it your wife, Sir?" Hathaway gestured towards the photograph.

"Sort of…" Robbie sighed.

"Would it... er... help to talk?

Robbie attempted a chuckle, but it sounded strained. "Turns out I'm not very good at that, James."

"I'm sure that's not true. Just got to speak from the heart." Hathaway pummelled his chest with theatrical bravado.

"But what if…" Robbie shook his head: he couldn't believe he was having this conversation with his sergeant, but he was desperate. "What if your heart is a bit of a mess?"

Hathaway looked again at the photograph, before saying, as gently as he could, "Is this about Doctor Hobson?"

Robbie cleared his throat and Hathaway wondered if he had overstepped the mark. His senior officer looked sadly out of the window before nodding. "Yes." His cheeks coloured.

Hathaway smiled – not one of his sardonic smirks, but a smile in which his eyes shone with reassurance. "Of all people, I think that she understands you best, Sir."

Lewis swallowed, a lump rising in his throat. He gripped the photo even tighter. "But there's a limit even to her understanding, I think, James."

Hathaway sighed. Sometimes Lewis could be his own worst enemy.

"Sir, forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, but I've seen the way she looks at you. And, quite frankly, the way you look at her. You're good together." He gestured once again to the photo. "People can't help the way they feel. **_You_** can't help the way you feel… and I don't think anyone blames you for that." Hathaway took in a deep breath: there was definitely a danger of overstepping the mark here, but it was late and Lewis looked like he needed some straight-talking. "Sir, if it had been the other way round – if you had died and not your wife – wouldn't you want her to be happy?"

"Of course I would."

"Then why won't you let yourself give it a try? I mean, Hobson's got a grizzly sense of humour, a sharp tongue and a terrifying temper, but underneath there's a heart of gold." Hathaway recalled the countless snippets of banter and flirtatious glances flying between his boss and the pathologist, usually over the head of a corpse. "She seems to _get_ you… whereas the rest of us can only ever try."

Lewis smiled weakly.

"Women who truly understand you don't exactly grow on trees, Sir. Believe me, I know."

"Hathaway, man – you're very young to be talking like that."

"Youth does not preclude wisdom, Sir." Hathaway raised his eyebrows and looked at Robbie meaningfully. "You know I'm right."

Robbie groaned. "Yes, I know you're right. But somehow I haven't been able bring myself to… until…"

"Has something changed?"

"You could say that." Robbie's laugh was pained. "But, as much as I appreciate this heart-to-heart, I'm not telling you what."

Hathaway was intrigued, but knew better than to push it. He was touched that his boss had shared even this much.

"Well, Sir, whatever it is… a fatalist would say that everything happens for a reason."

"But I don't believe in fate."

"Maybe it's time you started."

Robbie rolled his eyes. Perhaps his sergeant was right.

* * *

On his way to interview Mrs O'Reilly, Robbie paused for a moment at the water cooler. He reached into his pocket for his phone before taking a deep breath. He typed out the following message:

_'Thanks for your help with the murder weapon. Sorry I didn't get to see you. When this case is over - which I hope will be soon - will you let me take you away for a couple of nights? Somewhere we can talk. Just you and me. There's lots to say. R'_

His thumb hovered hesitantly over the send button. _Get a grip, man._ He punched send and headed purposefully down the corridor.


	18. Chapter 18

**You lot are top banana(s). Thanks for reading and leaving such interesting reviews. Here's the next bit. As ever, I'd love to hear your thoughts. This chapter is dedicated to Catuscia13 because she was quite right - I was procrastinating on this whilst writing a little Risqué Ramble****. Busted! :)**

* * *

Robbie didn't sleep well that night. When he finally made it to bed, it was well into the early morning and, although they had made a spectacular breakthrough in the case, he found it impossible to relax. All he could think of was Laura. She had not responded to his text and, although he knew she was most probably asleep, he couldn't shake the anxiety. As he felt his own thoughts on the pregnancy beginning to thaw and gain clarity, he worried that perhaps hers were not on the same wavelength. He panicked that the prospect of a future together, which his own heart was on the cusp of beginning to entertain, perhaps was not even on the table. _Hell_, he needed to talk to her. To be with her…

Yes, if he could just get her away… get _them_ away. Away from it all, to a place where there was no distraction by work, no interference from their every-day existence, and the baggage and thought processes that went with it. If he could take her somewhere where neither of them could run, where they both simply had to face up to facts, then maybe they could see a way through together. Maybe she'd see a way through with _him_. For, even though the news had only had a short time to sink in, with each passing hour Robbie was beginning to see the light of it. Perhaps even the joy of it. And he wanted so badly to share his awakening emotions with her: to let her see that he was not the cold, emotionally-defunct fish that she suspected when it came to his feelings towards her.

Somehow he needed to make it clear that this was not just about the baby. When he'd held her in his arms earlier, he'd felt something that he thought had long-since been lost. He'd felt the pure and simple need for another human being; the desire to be with her, to hold her, to kiss her… to make everything all right for her. It was more than attraction, more than affection and familiarity. He knew that now: it was so clearly love. _Love_. He was not a man of great words, but he could manage great deeds. He needed to _show_ her how they could be together. And that's why he desperately needed her to escape with him for a few days.

He checked his phone on the bedside table for what seemed like the millionth time. No reply. It was 3.45am. He tutted at himself: _You should be glad she's not awake. She needs to rest. _He tossed and turned this way until the dawn.

* * *

Laura awoke early to gentle cramps in her belly. She placed a reticent hand over the source of the pain and wondered what was going on within. Each passing day seemed to throw up a new symptom or surprise. Yes, she was a doctor, but this was far beyond her area of expertise. She knew she should make an appointment with the GP about her sickness, but the idea of acknowledging the pregnancy to anyone else besides Robbie alarmed her. Then it would definitely be real.

She stretched out idly under the duvet cover, glad to have woken before her alarm, and to be able to enjoy several more minutes cocooned in warmth and free from the nausea that would no doubt start as soon as she stood up. Absently, she reached out for her phone, discovering with a flutter in her chest a message bearing Robbie's name. She mustn't have heard it vibrate in the night. She opened the message and read it, her eyebrows jumping in surprise at its content. Sighing, she tossed the phone onto the duvet whilst she thought about how to respond. She lay back on the pillow, almost laughing at the irony of him asking her to go away with him for a few days – something she'd of course daydreamed occasionally about as her feelings for him had grown over the years. However, this was a very different prospect. Deep down, she knew she could really do with a few days off work – she hadn't taken any holiday for ages and yesterday had made painfully clear the extent to which she was running on empty. Whilst the career-driven ambition within her was determined not to let her pregnancy impact upon her work, her slightly more practical side knew that carrying on this way was not good for her. Or the baby.

_The baby_.

How odd it was suddenly to be taking this little life into consideration. Perhaps even odder was the weight she already felt it claiming over her job. She'd come home early last night… she was contemplating taking a few days off… things were already changing. It was bizarre. Perhaps she could blame the hormones.

Yes, the hormones. They had most definitely been in play yesterday when she'd found herself crumpled up in Robbie's lap on the bathroom floor. How undignified. It was hardly the show of strength and stoicism she had wanted to portray. But… he'd been there. Albeit slightly ineptly. He'd _known_. He'd sensed it. She knew he was often far less oblivious than she gave him credit, but him turning up last night had truly caught her off guard. Even bigger was the surprise of his appearance in the bathroom, the soothing effect he'd had… just by being there. That's why she had told him. Somehow, it felt right in the moment: safely encased in his arms, too tired to think of the implications and the fall out. He'd handled it well, for the most part, and could she really blame him for his question? Over the years, they'd hardly been the most open with their communication and behaviour. Given the situation, she understood why he'd asked and, now that the bruise of her pride was fading, she felt she could forgive him.

But was it really a good idea for them to go away together? Under normal circumstances it would simply be bizarre to take such a great leap in a relationship, but… these were no longer 'normal' circumstances. As a result of their little indiscretion (again her hand crept back to her stomach), things between them were always going to look a little topsy turvy. But, was she really ready for that level of intimacy with him? A few days of just them? Alone. Had she worked out things in her own mind yet? Did she know what she wanted?

_How do I feel?_

_Maybe it's time to stop thinking about you._

Sooner or later, it would all be about the three of them. Three of them! She shook her head – a phrase she'd never in her wildest dreams imagined would apply to her and Robbie. But that was the reality now. Perhaps the sooner she started to think like that the better. He'd told her he was not ready for a relationship – he might never be – but he had no choice on the fatherhood front. Maybe it would help them to adjust to the prospect of parenthood - and however it was going to work - together. Maybe she owed him… and herself… that much.

_But don't get your hopes up._

If she joined him for these few days away, she would have one thing clear in her mind. She was going with no expectation. Of him. Of them. Of anything. The probability of getting hurt was far too great. She and Robbie would have to learn to be functioning parents, but she gave her heart strict instructions not to yearn for anything more. That would be the only way to survive it, but also try to clear the air between them.

She picked up her phone from the duvet, toying for several minutes over the wording of her reply. Eventually she pressed send:

_'__You're right. We do need to talk. Maybe a few days away would help. Lx'_

She didn't really want to add the kiss, but to omit it would have been childish. She sighed and braced herself for another day of sickness and exhaustion. Perhaps she should call the GP after all.

* * *

Across town, Lewis and Hathaway were seated in front of Innocent's desk for an early morning briefing.

"Well, well, well, boys! A murder weapon and a confession all in one evening?!" She scoffed in disbelief, swigging coffee from a take-out mug.

It was barely light outside. Lewis and his junior looked drained, in spite of the Chief Super's elation. Lewis nodded, modestly.

"So go on… tell me everything." Innocent said, animatedly.

Lewis rubbed at the skin under his eye, stifling a yawn. "There's not much to tell, Ma'am. It all seemed to fall into place at the last minute."

"The Robert Lewis Book of Accidental Policing triumphs again!"

"It was hardly an accident, Ma'am." Hathaway interjected in defence of his senior officer.

"No, of course not." Innocent tilted her head and regarded the two detectives in front of her. This case appeared to have dulled their sense of humour somewhat. She continued more gently:

"So you found the murder weapon, interviewed Mr O'Reilly…"

"And he seemed genuine, Ma'am." A look of discomfort flickered briefly over Lewis' face as he recalled exactly what he and Mr O'Reilly had spoken about. "So we spoke to Mrs O'Reilly again… not really expecting to get anywhere, but then…"

"We had not banked upon the sheer force of Catholic guilt." Hathaway finished.

"So she's the killer." Innocent pondered, clearly enjoying herself. "Well, I can understand her motive for killing Nora Blakely if she'd cottoned on to her affair – and childbearing – with her husband… but what was her motive for killing the priest?"

Lewis sighed regretfully, unable to shake the image of desperation on Mr O'Reilly's face. "It was a case of mistaken identity."

"How so?"

"Mrs O'Reilly knew about Nora Blakely's affair. She'd heard village gossip, but she _didn't_ know the other party was her own husband. As part of her housekeeping duties at the church, she had overheard some heated discussions between Father O'Reilly and Nora, who'd confessed to the affair, and was threatening to have a termination."

"Which Father O'Reilly did not approve of… hence the nasty letters."

"Yes, hence the letters. But Mrs O'Reilly got the wrong end of the stick. She assumed that the other party in the affair was Father O'Reilly, her husband's brother."

"And Mrs O'Reilly was an extremely devout Catholic." Hathaway added. "With emphasis on the extreme."

"She did not approve of what she thought was a relationship between a priest and his parishioner." Lewis continued. "It brought shame on the church - an 'act of the devil' - and offended her religious sensibilities to such an extent…"

"That she killed them." Innocent completed, triumphantly.

Lewis sighed.

Innocent regarded him, quizzically. "Forgive me, Robbie, but you don't exactly seem overjoyed to have brought the investigation to such a swift conclusion. I'd be offering you my congratulations, but for the fact that you look like you've swallowed a wasp."

Lewis looked up at the Chief Super apologetically. "Sorry, Ma'am. It just been a… er… difficult case."

"Well, then you should be very glad it's finished. As am I. Well done, both of you." She smiled, briefly, at each officer before returning to her coffee. "Paperwork shouldn't take too long… eh? Especially with the confession."

"No, Ma'am. We'll get onto it right away…" Responded Lewis as he and Hathaway rose to leave.

As Hathaway headed back along the corridor, Lewis doubled back into Innocent's office. "One more thing, Ma'am… if I may?"

"Yes?" Innocent was tapping furiously away on her computer and did not stop to look up.

"Once this is all wrapped up, I wondered if I could take some days' holiday?"

"Of course." Innocent stopped abruptly and regarded Lewis over the rim of her glasses, her interest piqued. "Going anywhere nice?"

Lewis gritted his teeth against the inevitable question.

"Er… just away for a few days, to a cottage in Wales. To get away from it all, y'know."

"A cottage, eh? Sounds very pleasant."

"Yes, Ma'am. I hope it will be."

"By yourself?"

Lewis threw Innocent one of his supercilious, mildly irritated, raised-eyebrow-ed stares. He didn't answer.

"I see." Innocent smirked before returning her attention to her computer screen. "Well, enjoy!"

* * *

Back at his desk, Lewis made a quick phone call. "Er, hello. Yes, this is Robert Lewis. Just wanting to confirm the provisional reservation I placed last night."

He paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the line, as Hathaway pretended to look busy.

"Yep. The cottage. For three nights, starting on Thursday."

Another pause.

"Er…" Lewis' cheeks coloured. "For two. Two people." He muttered quietly, looking at Hathaway, whom he knew full well was only pretending not to listen. It took Hathaway an almost monumental effort to stifle a smile.

"Thank you." Lewis concluded the call and replaced the receiver.

Hathaway looked up to meet Lewis' eye. Lewis sighed, resignedly. "Go on then, James. Let's get your sarcastic comment over and done with."

Hathaway adopted a look of mock hurt, before stating grandly, "Sir, would I ever? Your personal life is no concern of mine."

Lewis rolled his eyes, unconvinced.

"But bravo, old chap." Hathaway continued, in a teasing but fond tone. "I'm sure Doctor Hobson will be most impressed by being whisked off on a romantic getaway."

"Hmm." Lewis feigned disinterest and began to shuffle through the papers on his desk.

"So where is this little love nest?" Hathaway jeered.

Lewis responded by throwing a file at his junior, which narrowly missed his head.

"Subject closed, Hathaway." He barked.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Bit worried about the lack of non-Robson storyline going forward, but I feel there's a bit more Robson mileage. Is anyone bothered? I didn't really intend for the story to go beyond the end of the case but the fallout from chapter 1 has taken on a bit more of a life of its own than I anticipated. **Maybe I could throw in a few more bodies? (Gruesome.) Or maybe we could just rely on Robson for our (admittedly vague) sense of plot? I fancy a bit of Robson time. Or MAYBE I should plan my story a bit better next time.****

****Thanks very much for your reviews. Thanks for noticing the little titbits of detail amongst the waffle and thank you for reading.****

* * *

Laura sat on her stairs, mentally running through her packing to check whether she had forgotten anything. Her compact suitcase had been stuffed to the brim with numerous options – the weather was so unpredictable at this end of the summer. The suitcase nestled explosively by the door, along with her mac and linen scarf. She noticed she was wringing her hands nervously. Of course she was nervous: there was so much that needed to be said. This long weekend would be a test for both of them.

Robbie pulled up outside her house, his insides engaged in a similar dance of dread. He could feel the pressure building, the expectation. He turned off the ignition and took a deep breath. _Relax. _

He stepped from the car and made his way slowly up the path to her front door. Laura jumped as the doorbell rang, her heart leaping into her throat. She wiped her clammy palms on her jeans and stood slowly.

She opened the door and, for a moment, neither of them spoke. They simply looked at each other, each noting with relief the anxiousness mirrored on the other's face.

"Hello." He ventured at length.

"Hi, Robbie." She flushed slightly, shoving her hands into her jeans pockets as he stepped across the threshold.

He looked down at her, dressed in a pale-petrol lambswool sweater over a white cotton shirt. She'd taken an age to decide on an outfit – silly really, as she'd only be sitting in the car. But the choice wasn't lost on him - he noticed how the shade of the wool ignited the blue of her eyes and he was glad to see that some colour had returned to her cheeks. Not for the first time, he felt the giddy flare of attraction to her in his chest.

"Ready?" He breezed, attempting to sound relaxed.

"As I'll ever be…"

He looked at her, awkwardly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound…"

"Reluctant?"

She bit her lip. "Um... yeah."

"Laura, it's OK. Don't you think I'm nervous too?" He raised his eyebrows and regarded her with those endlessly deep eyes that she loved so much. She nodded and looked blushingly down at her suitcase.

"So is this everything?" He grasped the handle of her suitcase and she was grateful that he didn't comment on its weight. She prayed it would not burst open in his hands.

"Yup." She threaded her scarf around her neck and slipped on her jacket, fumbling for her keys.

"Then, let's go!" Came his forcedly cheery response.

He placed her bag in the car and then returned to her at the front door, whilst she set the alarm and locked up. They proceeded wordlessly down the path, before he opened the passenger side door for her to climb in and closed it once she was safely seated. Firmly, she told herself not to read anything into this display of chivalry – he'd always treated her like this, for as long as she'd known him. It wasn't his fault that it made her feel special.

Waiting in the drinks rest were two enticingly steaming hot beakers of coffee – he'd obviously called in at their favourite caffeine haunt en route. He slid into the driver's seat and nodded in the direction of the coffee. "The one on the left's for you."

She hesitated.

"It's decaff." He added, reassuringly. She smiled and reached for the paper cup, nursing the welcome warmth eagerly between her palms.

"Thank you."

"And there are some sweets in the glove compartment. I thought they might help if you felt a bit… um… peaky."

She smiled again. He wanted to reach over and squeeze her knee, but he resisted, instead putting the car into gear and pulling out in the direction of the motorway.

* * *

"How long's the journey going to take?" Laura asked after a few mouthfuls of coffee. Having researched it herself, she already knew the answer, but somehow she felt comforted by the prospect of banal conversation.

"Three and a half hours… maybe four at max." He glanced momentarily away from the road at her, shrugging apologetically. "Sorry, I know it's a long way. I just read about this place and thought it would be nice to try it."

"It's OK. I just hope I can stay awake." At last the sickness medication she'd been given by the GP had begun to take effect and she'd managed to work the whole day and eat a small lunch. Consequently, she was tired and the early evening sun combined with the soft leather seats were already beginning to take a soporific hold on her senses.

She yawned and he laughed. "I don't mind if you sleep, Laura."

"Me snoring in the seat next to you is hardly providing you with scintillating company."

He sighed, good-naturedly, before saying quietly: "Laura, it's _me_. Not someone you have to entertain or impress. Just me."

_What did that mean? _She looked over at him, but this time he didn't take his eyes from the road. She frowned, slightly, trying not to brood over his statement. Just friends. Again. She stifled a sigh, reminding herself of her earlier pep talk.

"_Do_ you snore?" His quiet question caught her off guard and she smirked.

"I don't think so…"

He seemed to ponder this information. "I do." He offered, guiltily.

"I know." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She blushed and he laughed awkwardly.

"Good job the cottage has got separate bedrooms then, eh?"

This time the awkward laugh was hers. A slightly tense silence followed.

"Laura?"

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be all right, this, you know."

"You mean the weekend?"

"No. I mean… this… er… situation." Somehow he wasn't quite ready to refer to the baby expressly.

Laura sighed. "We'll see, Robbie." Her voice sounded tired. "We'll see."

* * *

Oxford, Banbury, Leamington Spa and soon Birmingham slipped by in the gathering dusk. The motorway lights flickered into life and Laura's head bobbed increasingly against her chest. Robbie wished she'd just give in to the sleep. She could be so stubborn sometimes. He smiled in spite of his mild exasperation.

"There's a blanket on the back seat if you want it." He suggested, reticently, wondering if she would take the bait.

She looked across at him with bleary eyes. A blanket sounded nice. She peered into the back seat. He chuckled, "Go on, make yourself comfortable. Have a rest."

She reached backwards to gather the checked navy fleece and spread it carefully over herself. Although she was exhausted, she really didn't want to sleep: she felt so on edge. Her usual ease around Robbie had deserted her some weeks ago and there was something so uncontrolled about sleeping next to him as he drove. She knew she was being ridiculous, but that was how she felt.

Nonetheless, the blanket was warm and comforting. As the miles slid by with the passing of streetlights, she felt her eyelids growing heavy and her head begin to loll.

Eventually, she slept and Robbie stole the occasional glance at her, likening her in his mind to a lioness in slumber: peaceful and vulnerable when at rest, but scary as hell when awake. He tried not to notice the fall of her hair in her face or how cosy and ripe for a cuddle she looked, all snuggled up in the seat beside him. Again he resisted the urge to reach out to touch her. For now, it had to be enough that she'd joined him this far.

He had a lot of ground to make up this weekend. That was for sure.

* * *

He stilled the car engine once he'd parked up outside the cottage, but this failed to wake her. He looked out into the soupy blackness that surrounded them, punctuated only by the porch light of the cottage. It really was the middle of nowhere. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of nothing, save for Laura's gentle breathing. No sirens, no students, no traffic, no nothing. Having stopped, he noticed the weight that the past couple of weeks had exerted upon him. His chest felt heavy with fatigue and uncertainty. His neck was stiff with tension and he rubbed it tentatively.

He sighed and looked over at the snoozing form beside him. In spite of everything, he couldn't help but smile at her, scrunched up as she was against the passenger door. He was amazed she could sleep like that, but, then again, he knew how tired she must be… and was going to continue to be for the next few weeks. Mentally, he gave himself a talking to for the weekend, managing his expectations and sternly instructing himself not to push her too far. Not to assume anything about the way she was feeling – physically or mentally. Yes, he'd experienced pregnancy before with Val, but Laura wasn't Val. He must be careful not to tread on her toes, not to patronize her. He needed to help her find her own way in this. He hoped he was capable of doing that whilst also showing how much he wanted to be there for her.

What he needed to do now was wake the lioness. It wasn't a prospect he was looking forward to, but they could hardly sit here like this all night.

"Laura." He said gently, touching her knee. "Laura, we're here."

She started and her eyes flashed open. Still only half-awake she smiled at him before the gathering of her bearings made the smile fade as reality set in. She rubbed her face, tiredly. "Sorry, how long was I asleep?"

"Only a little while." He lied.

She began to extricate herself from the blanket.

"It's quite cold outside." He looked at the temperature gauge on the dashboard. "Shall I light a fire when we get in…?"

"That's kind… but I think I'll just go to bed, if that's OK."

Robbie looked at the clock. It was just after half nine. Hardly late. "Of course." He smiled back at her, trying not to sound disappointed.


	20. Chapter 20

Laura awoke to the kind of intrusively bright light that told her it was late into the morning. She rolled onto her back, adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings of the old cottage, glancing over the stained wooden beams and neatly skimmed plasterwork of her room. The furniture was modern, yet natural: a tasteful array of slate, wood and glass. A heavy geometric print quilt adorned the bed, underneath which she nestled between crisp, white cotton sheets. The accommodation was stylish and expensive-looking, no doubt matched by its price. Her room adjoined the open living space, which, as she'd staggered towards her bedroom last night, had seemed spacious, if a little chilly. Her ears adjusted to the gentle trickle of water emanating from somewhere outside the window, punctuated by the clipped call of birds… and, the clatter of pots from the kitchen.

Clearly Robbie was already up. _Urgh._ As much as she knew they needed this time together, the thought of the forced domesticity of the situation left her cold. Weeks ago, she'd have given anything to be waking up with Robbie in a remote holiday cottage, far from civilization – just the two of them. But that would have involved them waking up together in the same bed, his arms draped warmly around her, whilst they play-fought over who would get up to make the coffee. Instead, here she was: alone. Not even in the same room. The distance between them was more than physical. The situation was bizarre. Who were they trying to kid?

With a sigh of indignation, she threw back the covers and located a pair of thick, warm socks in her overflowing suitcase in order to spare her toes from the chill of the slate floor. Summer was over. In more ways than one.

In the little en suite bathroom, she smoothed down her unkempt hair in the mirror as best she could, before venturing out into the kitchen. She found him stooped over the stove, dressed in his jeans and a checked shirt: his casual look. She tried to ignore the little tug of her insides as she pondered how rarely she saw him out of a suit. He straightened and turned towards her, his face bright and evidently on-best-behaviour.

"Morning!" He said cheerily, stirring a steaming pot of something with a spoon.

"Morning." She attempted to replicate his enthusiasm but didn't sound very convincing.

"Did you sleep ok?"

"Er… yeah." She nodded, genuinely, acknowledging the oddity of an entire night's unbroken sleep. "You?"

"Like a baby..." His response trailed off a little sheepishly and he feigned sudden interest in the saucepan. "I've been out." He chattered, awkwardly, "to the village shop for supplies. I've bought fruit and porridge… and eggs and bread for toast… or there's bacon, if you'd like… I didn't know what you'd fancy."

_The woman is carrying your child and you don't even know what she likes for breakfast. _He frowned slightly at the pan of porridge on the stove.

"Porridge would be lovely." She sensed his uneasiness and attempted a smile. "Normally I'd kill for a fry-up, but my stomach's not up to much at the moment."

He smiled back. At least he'd got one thing right.

He poured out the porridge into a trendy-looking ceramic bowl, before dolloping it with fruit. "Sugar?" He questioned, attempting a little wink, "or are you already sweet enough?"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist a little smile. He was trying so hard. And she was being nothing but grumpy. Perhaps she needed to cut him some slack. "A little sugar, please…" She said, before mumbling, "I think I could do with some help in the sweetness department."

"Give over." He smiled, his eyes flickering briefly over the soft, floral grey of her pyjamas and tousled hair. "You look pretty sweet to me."

She laughed. "Flirting _before_ breakfast, Robert. That's early even for you."

His laugh was genuine. "Well… you know what they say about the early bird…?"

"Yes." She accepted the porridge from him and tucked in hungrily. "The _early_ bird gets up to make breakfast, whilst the _sensible_ bird stays in bed."

* * *

"Do you fancy a walk?" The suggestion came an hour or so later, as Laura lounged on the sofa, still in her pyjamas, happily ensconced with the paper that Robbie had bought that morning.

She stretched lazily, her stomach churning ever so slightly as she realised that 'walk' was probably intended as a synonym for 'talk'.

"Yeah. Why not?" _Might as well get it over with. _

"I thought we could drive down to the river and then walk up to Aberdovey. It's not far. Maybe a few miles?"

She nodded. "Sounds good."

It was a grey, but clear day; the breeze was tinged with the bite of the beginning of autumn. The slushy, tumultuous grey of the river mirrored the concrete shade of the sky, but the scenery and fresh air more than made up for the weather. Here was the sense of space they had both craved.

They walked in silence for the first part of the journey, taking in their surroundings, absorbing the calm of the landscape, the coastal air filling their lungs and senses. Gradually, they fell into step and Laura felt herself relax slightly.

As though he sensed this, Robbie spoke quietly into the silence: "How are you feeling today?"

"OK. The morning sickness is miles better since I was given those tablets. I'm going to try not to stay on them for too long, though."

He nodded. "And how are you feeling generally… you know… about everything?"

She emitted one of her stilted laughs, most of it catching in her throat, and shrugged. "It's still a bit of a shock, really."

"Yeah." He agreed, nodding sagely.

"It's going to take a lot of getting used to."

"I know. But…" He paused as though choosing his words carefully, "it's not an absolute disaster is it?"

Laura stopped abruptly and turned to face him, her cheeks pinched pink by the autumnal air. She looked up at him searchingly before acknowledging, "No… no, it's not."

He smiled cautiously. "Good. I'm glad that's how you feel."

She started to walk again, hands deep in her pockets, looking at the path beneath her feet rather than at him. He fell back into step. She took a deep breath:

"Robbie, I'm 40 and single. I'd sort of given up on the idea of children. I thought it was too late. Whilst I realize this situation between us isn't exactly 'happy families', I'd never begrudge a baby."

Laura hoped this was an acceptable footing on which to start their dialogue - a manageable amount of disclosure for him. But she also regretted the fact she had to hold so much back. Really, she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. How, underneath all the anxiety, shock and apprehension, she was achingly glad to be pregnant with _his_ child. A child who would be half of him and hopefully just like its father in so many ways. However, given the situation, given the emotional enigma that was Robert Lewis, she knew it would sound at best disconcerting and at worst slightly unhinged if she were to admit all this to him out loud. They were so far from being on the same page. Hence her caginess. Hence her frostiness. It was self-protection. It had to be.

Robbie carefully unpacked what she had said. He hated that she sounded so resigned to it. But perhaps that was to be expected: a first time mum in an unusual situation, without the benefit of his experience. As each day passed, Robbie himself was growing more and more accustomed to the idea. Suddenly the recklessness and emotional fallout mattered less. Rather, he had something else to focus on: something that was grounding him after all these years adrift. However, in spite of his feelings - or perhaps because of them - he knew he was treading on eggshells around Laura. He had only himself to blame: he'd held her at arm's length for all this time, despite his growing feelings for her, and now he didn't know how best to close the distance.

Patience. Patience was perhaps what it would take.

"How do _you_ feel about it?" She ventured.

_Laura. In a parallel universe, far from here, I'd tell you that, now I'm over the surprise, I'm pleased... more than pleased perhaps. I'm excited, anxious, hopeful… maybe even verging on happy. But I'm so bloody scared of misjudging this… of pushing you… of how my children will react… that I don't know what to say._

"Er… much the same as you. Apart from I'm in me 50s… with two grown up children."

_His children. In all my irritable self-pity, I suppose I'd forgotten about them. _

"What do you think they'll say?"

Robbie grimaced. This was certainly the flipside of the coin. "I don't know." He exhaled lengthily. "I really don't know."

They walked on in silence.

"I'm sorry, Robbie."

"What for?"

"I know that this is complicated for you."

"It's complicated for both of us, Laura. You don't need to apologise. Besides, there's so much that is _good_ about what's happened."

"You think?"

"Definitely." He tried to smile reassuringly. "And we'll just need to sort out the messy bits as we go along. There's plenty of time yet."

She nodded.

"For now," He offered her his arm, a gesture that he'd made unthinkingly so many times before yet today it somehow meant a great deal more. "I think we should just take it one step at a time."

Laura threaded her arm through his, glad that the conversation between them had finally started, but knowing that there was still a long way to go.

They walked on to Aberdovey, deep in thought.

* * *

**A/N: I'm trying to chivvy them in the right direction, I promise. They're just being a bit ... um... _Robson _about it. **


	21. Chapter 21

After a blustery afternoon of salty, estuary air and increasingly easy chatter, the pair made it back to the cottage in good spirits. Next to Robbie in the front seat of the car as they wound their way down the darkening country lanes, Laura cradled a warm bundle of fish and chips for their supper – this time determined to eat them. Since broaching the subject on their walk this morning, they had both relaxed a little and the flickerings of their old friendship were beginning to emerge. Owing to the sporadic radio signal, they were trying (not altogether successfully) to fill in the gaps created in Rod Stewart's 'Maggie May.' Laura led the performance, with Robbie joining in as his sketchy knowledge of the song permitted. He stole the occasional glance at her: she was smiling.

After eating, Robbie lit the fire and Laura lounged in the large leather armchair, watching the flames and trying to fight the sleepiness induced by the coastal air, food and exercise. Robbie regarded her from the sofa, over the top of the newspaper. She looked so much better than she had a few days ago and, if this weekend came to nothing else, at least he could be glad of that. She'd made it very clear by her actions today that she was not to be wrapped in cotton wool: she didn't seem to want to be 'looked after'. She'd practically vaulted over stiles and looked at him with mirth every time he'd asked if she needed a rest. It was typical Laura, but it made it hard for him to show her how much he wanted to take care of her.

So much so that, even now, as she was practically falling asleep opposite him, he didn't dare suggest that she go to bed. Although the atmosphere between them had changed for the better, he still longed just to give her a reassuring cuddle, to feel her close. Earlier that day, he'd savoured the touch of her arm threaded through his– the first proper contact they'd had since he'd held her on her bathroom floor all those nights ago. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then.

She yawned somewhat indignantly and stretched. "I think I need to go to bed."

He smiled and nodded. "Good idea."

"But it's so nice by the fire…"

He contemplated offering her the spot on the sofa next to him – perfect for a snooze. _No, best not. _

She sighed and reluctantly slid from the warm leather embrace of the armchair. She hovered briefly in front of him:

"Night."

"Night, Laura." He looked up from the paper, the light of the fire and the day's fresh air giving his face an almost youthful glow.

_Would it be so wrong to kiss him on the cheek?_ She wondered. _Probably, yes. _

She smiled instead and pottered softly to her bedroom.

* * *

_"__Urgh… it's bloody freezing." _She whispered to herself as she closed the door. Having lit the fire earlier, they hadn't seen the need to use the heating.

Shivering, she threw on several layers, splashed water on her face and tried to brush her chattering teeth. The sheets were icy as she drew them back, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

She lay that way for almost half an hour, becoming colder by the second. The thought of the warm fire outside her door teased her mercilessly. Eventually, she relented.

Robbie looked up in surprise as she re-emerged from her bedroom.

"Everything ok?"

"Mmm." She murmured, hurrying towards the kettle in the open kitchen. "Just a bit cold. Thought maybe a hot drink would warm me up."

"Sorry, I'll put the heating on…" He jumped up from the sofa.

"No, don't be silly. It's late. I'm sure I'll be fine in a minute." She eyed the fire longingly, already feeling its warmth percolating her pyjamas.

He followed her gaze. "Here – let me make make us a brew. You sit down…"

"I'm perfectly capable of making myself a drink, Robbie. I'm pregnant - not an invalid!"

"I know! So you keep telling me." He laughed. "Just sit down will you, woman? Get yourself warm." He went over to her, took the mug that she'd just extracted from the cupboard and handed her instead the blanket that had been draped over the back of the sofa, raising his eyebrows in a silent battle of wills.

Smiling gratefully, she relented. "OK... Thank you."

He busied himself with two cups of tea before returning to find her sitting in his place on the sofa, curled up beneath the blanket. He noted that she hadn't returned to the armchair, but wondered whether he'd be pushing it too far by sitting beside her.

Fortunately, she answered the question for him by shuffling over to make space for him on the sofa. He smiled, depositing one steaming cup on the smooth, reclaimed wooden coffee table and carefully handing her the other. She accepted the drink eagerly, blowing on it and hugging it in towards her, evidently still feeling the cold. With ever so slight awkwardness, Robbie sat down beside her. She took a hurried sip of tea and winced – too hot – before depositing the cup on the table beside his to cool. Shuddering, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

Tentatively, he moved a little closer to her and extended his arm in her direction. "Come on... come here. Let me help you get warm."

Her eyes blazed with the dancing glare of the fire as she considered his proposition. She hesitated before sliding slowly towards him. His arm crept around her shoulders and down her back, gently scooping her in to the welcome warmth of his chest. Her body was tense at first – still so defensive and prickly towards him. _Don't read anything into this Laura._ Yet, as she settled beside him, they both silently acknowledged how natural and comfortable it felt. How, in spite of everything, they each wanted to stay like this for as long as possible.

* * *

Later, much later – long after Laura had fallen fast asleep, nestled tightly against him - Robbie watched the dying embers of the fire. He heard the rise and fall of her breathing and felt the unfamiliar weight of her relaxed body against his. He really should get up, but he didn't want to let her go. Even though it was only in sleep, she was letting him hold her. The tension of the past few weeks had deserted them for a moment – she wasn't fighting him, he wasn't messing up or saying the wrong thing. He allowed his thoughts and eyes to wander to her tummy, buried beneath the blanket and layers of clothing. If this was so wrong, why did it feel so right?

* * *

**A/N: a short and unnecessarily cheesy chapter. Sorry. It's just how it came out. **


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning, Laura awoke to the noticeable absence of the nagging awkwardness she'd felt for the previous two days. It was quiet and still in the cottage. Evidently Robbie was not yet awake. Lazily, she rolled over, burrowing further under the covers, enjoying both the snug warmth and the agreeable prospect of another day away from the mortuary. She checked her watch. It was later than she'd woken in a long time. _Lazy bones. _

Minutes later, having bundled herself into a thick jumper and checked her appearance fleetingly in the mirror, she padded sleepily into the kitchen. Being fairly confident of Robbie's eating habits, she turned on the grill for the bacon and tomatoes, before beginning to scramble some eggs. The inviting aroma of sizzling meat soon filled the kitchen and, shortly thereafter, prompted the appearance of a bleary-eyed Robbie from his bedroom.

"Morning." He yawned widely, rubbing his eyes. "Something smells good!"

"Thought you might fancy a bit of a fry up."

He grinned enthusiastically, looking agreeably roguish in his t-shirt and hastily thrown-on jeans: barefoot, his hair unkempt, the beginnings of stubble forming on his chin. Laura tried her best not to notice.

"Sleep ok?" Robbie joined her at the counter and began filling the kettle for coffee.

"Yep." She admitted, entertaining a vague recollection of being led, sleepily, from the sofa to her bedroom in the semi-darkness of the dying fire last night. This was swiftly followed by a more potent memory of beforehand drifting to sleep with his arm around her. She smiled slightly at the thought, in spite of herself. "Thanks for putting me to bed." She murmured.

He caught the smile and returned it shyly. "No problem."

They leaned against the counters on opposite sides of the kitchen, each lingering over the sensation of something unspoken that seemed to have thawed between them overnight.

"What do you fancy doing today?"

"I don't mind. Maybe another walk? Afternoon tea somewhere?"

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

They had enjoyed a relaxed and easy day together, each relieved to notice that some semblance of normality was returning between them. That evening, they'd even ventured out to a quaint little gastropub for supper, Laura driving so that Robbie could sample the local ale. It was a day they both seemed reluctant to end.

Having returned to the cottage in thick, but peaceful darkness, Robbie lit the fire as Laura shook off her jacket.

"Do you fancy watching a film?" Her suggestion was hopeful, finding herself for the first time since their arrival wanting to eke out her time with him.

"Yeah, why not?" Robbie smiled inwardly. He stood up as the fire crackled into life, rubbing his hands boyishly on the back of his jeans.

"Maybe you could raid the DVD collection whilst I get changed?" She shifted uncomfortably in her evening attire, tugging at the tie at the back of her dress to loosen it, but the tie caught slightly in the zip and refused to come undone.

"Stupid thing." She muttered, twisting in vain to untangle it.

"Having trouble?" He looked over at her.

"Just the tie is caught... at the back of my dress."

"Can I help?"

The question was innocent enough. She smiled, cautiously, at him and hesitated before dropping her hands to her sides to allow him access. She felt him approach from behind and then the gentle brush of his fingers on her lower back as he released the tie. Her breath paused in her throat when, after letting it fall, he didn't move away.

Robbie stood, motionless, behind her, secretly savouring the proximity she'd allowed. Perhaps it was the beer he'd had in the pub, perhaps it was the thawing of the atmosphere between them, but something dared him to place his hands on her shoulders and give them a companionable rub. He almost expected her flinch, but she remained still, not objecting.

_Perhaps..._

As he took a cautious step closer to her, she turned her head, slightly, over her shoulder so that he could see the profile of her face. Her eyes were alert and questioning, but still she did not move. Gently, tentatively, he smoothed his thumbs over the outline of her shoulder blades through the drape of her dress. Again, he waited for her protest, but none came. Emboldened, he began to edge his touch away from amiable fondness towards something a little more by tracing one fingertip lightly up over the curve of her neck.

He was holding his breath, certain that she would withdraw, but instead she surprised him by tilting her chin away from his touch, as though to expose more of her skin to his attentions. Willingly, his fingertips pressed into the hollow of her neck and shoulder, as his other hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer towards him. He couldn't see, but she closed her eyes.

Robbie was so reluctant to push this, to ruin the progress they had made today. Yet, what he thought was right and what he wanted - so badly - to do, were two very disparate propositions. Grappling with his reservations, he pressed his nose and cheek into her hair, not yet feeling bold enough to kiss her, but knowing full well that all his senses were dragging him that way. He inhaled, deeply, savouring the heady cocktail of her perfume, shampoo and skin. He felt her relax backwards into him and the encouraging rush of her breath as she exhaled. Finally, instinct took over and his mouth nudged against the skin below her ear, his bottom lip closing the distance as he offered her his first, fully committed caress. As Laura heard and felt the slow, purposeful formation of the kiss below her earlobe, it caused the familiar ache of longing for him to rise in her chest.

The kisses continued, timidly at first but then with increasing eagerness, down her neck and onto her shoulder. Involuntarily, she felt herself melting backwards into him, the tight knot of tension in her stomach beginning to unfurl as her body responded to his touch. Her thoughts began to blur as she concentrated on the gentle, tender pressure of his mouth on her skin.

As his confidence – and other urges – grew, his grip around her tightened. She was aware of the quickening thud of his heart as he cradled her against him from behind, raising her up on her tiptoes, as though he needed her to be even closer. Gone was his hesitance. Gone seemed his senses. But where were hers? Amongst the intoxicating sensations skittering through her consciousness, a voice was beginning to nag at her with increasing volume.

_Not again. No. We shouldn't… We shouldn't… _

Eventually the niggling reservation in her mind made it to her mouth, "We shouldn't… be doing… this." She murmured between unsteady breaths.

He stopped instantly, releasing his hold, so her heels returned to the floor. Her body reeled from the abrupt loss of sensation, as blood pounded in her ears.

She heard the uneven kilter of his breath behind her.

"Robbie…" Her voice was plaintive, "I'm so confused."

He sighed, her words and despairing tone of voice hitting him painfully.

She swallowed. _He hasn't thought this through. He's got no idea what he's doing. I'm going to be left looking like a fool. Again. _

He didn't speak and a familiar lump of disappointment began to form in her throat.

She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke again. "I'm sorry, Robbie. I can't do this. I don't know what to think… or feel… about you anymore."

Embarrassed, she attempted to wriggle free of his hold, but met gentle, but firm resistance. Softly, he twisted her hips so as to turn her to face him.

"You don't know what to think?" His voice sounded quiet and gruff. She couldn't look at him.

Laura shrugged and hung her head.

He reached out to lift her chin and, when their eyes met, she was caught off guard by the intensity of the way he was looking at her. "Well then." He smiled slightly – it was a simultaneously tender and nervous expression. "Perhaps I should give you something to think about."

She frowned, unable to tear her gaze from his face. "What?" Her eyes were anxious and wide with uncertainty.

He held her gaze for a fraction of a second longer before speaking clearly and unflinchingly:

"I'm in love with you."

The words thundered through her with almost physical effect.

"What?" She breathed.

He smiled, this time with abject relief. Finally, he'd said it. "You _heard_."

Had her breathing had been erratic before, that was nothing compared to what was happening now. She shifted in his arms, not knowing whether to laugh… or cry… or pinch herself. "Robbie… I…"

"Shh." He silenced her with a gentle laugh. "I'm not expecting you to say it back. I know it was probably unexpected… I… I just wanted you to know."

"But I thought you…"

"Things have changed, Laura." He said firmly, looking directly into her eyes. "So much. I've had to do a lot of thinking over the past week. And face up to how I really feel… about many things. About my life… about the baby..."

He paused, his voice struggling ever so slightly with the weight of emotion behind what he was trying to convey.

"...But, most importantly, ... about _you_." He squeezed her gently as he said the final word.

She looked up at him, utterly stunned, as he continued: "I want you to know that this, here, now – this ... er..._ moment _– is about me and you. It's not about the baby. It's not about my past… or your past… or our past. It's about me telling you that I love you, regardless of what's happened between us… or whatever is going to happen in the future."

He was relieved to see a hesitant smile begin to form on her lips. He encouraged it with a wide grin of his own, the release of his words flooding through him like warm sunshine. "We've got time to think, and plan, and decide how it's going to work… _if you want it to work_," he added hurriedly and earnestly, "but, for now, I just needed you to know… and with apologies for it taking so long… that I love you… and have done for a long, long time."

There was a loaded pause as she looked at him, her thoughts scudding rapidly across the vast steely blue of her eyes.

"Right..." She said, uncertainly. Feeling the beginning of tears, her voice wobbled slightly. She gripped tightly onto his shirtsleeves.

He laughed, looking down at her with now uninhibited affection. "Laura Hobson: lost for words, eh? That's got to be a first."

Finally, she smiled properly, the rising of her cheeks spilling her tears. She looked up at him and he realised that she was shaking. "Are you OK?" He asked, softly.

She answered by hurling her arms around his neck and pulling him in for an onslaught of warm and fervent kisses. He regained his hold around her and, as he drew her upwards against him, there was no more talking. No more awkward glances or gaps in conversation. Instead, they held tightly to each other, expressing themselves without the need for words.

As their lips made up for lost time, two pairs of hands roamed to increasingly more adventurous places and, at length, two sets of clothing began to fall quietly to the floor.

This time there would be neither doubt nor hesitation. This time they'd savour every second. This time they'd just enjoy.


	23. Chapter 23

The second time that Laura awoke next to Robbie could not have felt more different from the first. For a start, she wasn't exactly lying beside him, but rather wrapped up in his limbs, their bodies engaged in a subconscious, needy tangle – even in sleep. She didn't feel tense, or scared… or hungover. She felt warm, secure and… tingly. Yes, _tingly_. Exactly the sort of thing her teenage self would have said, because the fizz of excited disbelief at the turn of events had returned her almost to the sensations of her youth. Despite the weight and complexity of all that was to come, she allowed herself to enjoy the little swirls of nervous energy, the pangs of longing and the unbelievably pleasant ache in her chest that resulted from just lying with him.

She hadn't expected this. In fact it was so far from the various scenarios she'd contemplated, it was almost impossible to take in. She smiled bashfully as, in her mind, she re-played what he'd said.

_I'm in love with you._

Had he really said that? Had he really stolen the words that had been on the tip of her own tongue so many times? At the end of countless nights in the pub, or when he looked at her a certain way… or did something particularly enigmatic which she struggled to understand. Had she really misjudged his feelings that much? _An enigma_. She'd long since labeled him as such, but his little monologue last night had really knocked her for six. Clearly she'd been so militant in the assembly of her defences lately that she'd totally forgotten to question their necessity. He'd been forced to close the distance unaided and, for once, she couldn't fault him. This time, he had made things clear.

She slid a slightly cautious, but equally gleeful hand over the unfamiliar territory of his bare chest. He stirred. For a brief moment she wondered if a night's sleep would make him regret his actions, but she needn't have worried. As he came to, he drew her instinctively in towards him, pressing a greeting of kisses into her hair, as her head came to rest on his chest. The giddy-teenager sensations swelled again within her as she nudged her nose against his skin, indulging herself in its smell.

"Hello." His voice was low and laced with recent sleep, the intimacy of its tone making her insides contract in delight.

"Hi." In contrast, her greeting was breathy and light. He could hear her smile.

They lay there for a moment, each unsure of exactly what to say.

"So…" He lengthened the word deliberately so she could sense his self-satisfaction at awaking to find her, unclothed in his arms.

She giggled. He closed his eyes – it had been so long since he'd heard that sound. He'd _missed_ it.

"So…?" She repeated, coyly.

"Well… that was… um…"

"Unexpected?"

She felt his laugh resonate through his chest. "For _you_ maybe." He squeezed her teasingly.

"Oh… so I suppose you had that planned all along?" Her voice lilted upwards with playful affection.

"Yeah." He attempted mock male bravado. "I thought if I whisked you away to a swanky cottage, took you to a nice pub, turned on the charm… you'd be easy pickings."

"Robbie!" She shrieked with implied indignance, but obvious amusement.

"What?" He laughed, rolling her over onto her back and leaning purposefully over her. "It worked didn't it?"

The sudden eye contact, combined with her prone position below him, drained the flirty levity from the air between them. She watched as his eyes followed the contours of what his movements had uncovered from beneath the sheets before returning to hers. He looked at her with an expression she felt she recognised. It was a look he'd sometimes given her in the past - usually when he was tired or drunk, or harangued by a particularly challenging case. She'd always thought of as being a regretful and almost pained stare. Now, as his pupils widened, and he took a deep, contented breath, she realised she'd been misreading it all this time. Underneath the seriousness, she could now identify affection and, _oh yes_, a longing that seemed to mirror hers. As if for the avoidance of doubt, his lips translated the meaning of his stare, finding hers with deliberate and sensuous pressure.

She exhaled as her entire body rallied to attention. "Yes, it worked." She breathed, as he withdrew.

The kiss that followed was the kind of all-consuming, drowning-in-sensation eddy of tongues and lips that happened only in films. Or between two people who had simply been waiting too long. Inwardly, Robbie marvelled at how natural and already familiar she felt in his arms. There was something so potent about the juxtaposition of the infancy of their romantic relationship and the meaningful weight of their past. They seemed to fit together in a way that felt at once age-old, but simultaneously so exhilarating and exciting. Plus, she was gorgeous_._ Just _gorgeous. _Given the complexity of their situation, this was perhaps a crude and basic observation, but one he could not avoid.

They broke apart in order to recover their bearings (and breathing) slightly and, as Laura tried to speak, Robbie turned his attentions elsewhere on her body.

"Robbie?"

Withdrawing reluctantly from the administration of nuzzles to her shoulder, he regarded her: laid back against the pillow, seemingly unaware of how alluring she looked, her cheeks clearly betraying an eager flush of pink.

"Yeah?"

"I think you already know this but…"

Absently, his hands began to re-explore the contours that his eyes had previously skimmed. "What?"

She closed her eyes against an involuntary shiver. She needed to say this before she became further distracted.

"… just for the record…"

Her breath hitched as his mouth returned to the curve of her neck.

"… and seeing as we're _suddenly_ being all open and honest about everything…"

He shifted against her, pinning her down slightly. As her body responded to him, she found it was getting harder and harder to speak.

"… I think you should know that…"

She gasped slightly as, finally, his attentions went beyond the realms of sensible conversation.

"Mmm… never mind. I'll tell you later."

Inwardly, Robbie smiled. He had an inkling of what she had been trying to say. And, whilst he longed to hear it, at this precise moment, he had other, more pressing things on his mind.

* * *

**A/N: sorry that was completely unnecessary.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hi. Sorry I've been away. And thanks for the lovely reviews and messages since. Life just got in the way a bit... well, a lot... and meant I wasn't really in the zone for fanfic. That sounds like a really poor excuse, but really it did. Big time. Anyway, I am back - and very rusty, so apologies - with a final chapter. I say 'final' but I think there is a perhaps little bit of mileage left with this story and some readers have said they would like to know how it all pans out, so I have started writing an epilogue of one shots which I will post on to the end of this story when they are finished. Whilst I enjoyed Series 8, I found it fairly disappointing from a character development perspective and, to this day, I have no idea what the kiwis were about, so I've returned to my little far-fetched AU to get some Robson joy back in my life. Hope everyone is well and, as ever, thanks for reading. **

* * *

[Recap (because it has been so long). Relations have thawed considerably between our hesitant couple, but Laura still has something she needs to say].

* * *

The wind was calmer on the beach later that day. Leaden clouds lingered in the sky, punctuated by occasional flashes of piercing sunlight. They walked in silence, at first, the wet sand giving slightly beneath their feet, their hands plunged deeply in pockets against the bite of the increasingly autumnal air. They were due to return home to Oxford - and reality - later that evening.

Laura paused to pick up a small piece of driftwood, toying with it absently, running her fingers over the smooth, moist bark. Robbie turned back to look at her, his shoulders hunched a little against the cold, but his face open and relaxed.

She squinted against another sudden appearance of the sun reflected in the puddled shore and looked up at him.

"Robbie?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"You know what you said last night?" She continued to toy with the driftwood.

"About you being easy pickings?"

She laughed, loudly. Genuinely. "No!"

She discarded the driftwood and crept up to him, sliding her hands between his coat and the warmth of his jumper. He looked down at her, a wry smile playing on his face, as he pretended not to know to what she was referring.

"About how comfy your bed was compared to mine?"

"No… not that." The slightest agitation flickered across her face.

Tenderly, he tucked a wayward tendril of her hair behind her ear before slipping his arms around her.

"_Oh… _you mean when I said _I love you._" He emphasized the words deliberately and playfully, but the depth of his stare matched their significance.

He watched as the agitation on her face dissipated for a fraction of a second and she laughed shyly at the repetition of his words. She nodded, her face flushing.

"Yes, I remember."

"Well…" Her voice was quiet. He loved it so. "I just wanted to say… um… ditto."

"Ditto?" He laughed. Despite his frivolity, his heart thumped in his chest.

She looked up at him and, for the briefest of moments, he forgot entirely where he was. Her eyes were wide with nervous but electrifying affection. He couldn't remember ever seeing her look so beautiful. A sharp intake of salty, coastal air filled his lungs as everything around him seemed to still.

She smiled again, shyly, caught slightly off guard by the force of his stare:

"Robbie… I love you too." She squeezed him gently, "You do know that, don't you?"

With a wide grin, he pulled her in for a deep kiss. She relaxed fully against him, cocooned against the softness of his jumper and the strength of his embrace.

"I think so." He whispered, eventually, withdrawing to rest his forehead against hers.

"I know I haven't exactly shown it these past few weeks." She murmured.

"You've had a lot on your plate, love." His thumb brushed her cheek as her insides twisted at his relaxed and unexpected use of the term of endearment.

"We both have."

"And… all being well, we'll have a lot on our plates for a long time to come." He smiled knowingly.

"Yes..." She withdrew from nestling against his chest to look up at him. "I suppose we will."

"I know it's going to take a lot of getting used to, Laura. And it won't be plain sailing, but I think... I hope … we've got a lot to look forward to."

The warmth of his words caused a flare in her chest, despite the cold. In this moment, on this remote beach, with just seagulls and the rush of the sea for company, it suddenly felt easy to believe him. She smiled, hesitantly, but openly.

Robbie's hands dropped to her waist as he twisted her round to face the sea, pulling her to lean backwards against him. They stood like this for a moment, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, both taking in the vast, watery grey as it blended almost imperceptibly into the sky. Laura allowed herself to rest the back of her head against his chest and he tucked it gently under his chin. She closed her eyes and felt her mind still, for the first time in weeks. The quiet warmth of his arms around her seemed to set the tension in her body adrift. With each breath of bracing air, she sensed the turmoil of the past two months begin to ease.

She let everything – all of the noise, the questions, all of the anxiety, the apprehension… everything – stop. Just for the moment. She allowed herself to feel only the steadiness of his body against hers and the rise and fall of her breath.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In time with the tide.

She started slightly as Robbie moved one hand down towards her middle. His fingers slipped under the hem of her jumper and t-shirt and her breath caught as she felt the warmth of his palm spread against her stomach. The baby. _Their_ baby. Looking down at his hand resting on what had become the most important part of her body and feeling him press a kiss into her hair whilst tightening his grip around her, she fought back a sudden urge to cry. Happy tears. Grateful, thankful tears for the prospect of something of which she had given up hope. Something which had seemed to come so easily to everyone else, but had evaded her… until now.

Until Robbie.

Robbie held the woman he loved tightly in his arms. It was she who held the key to a future he had long since dismissed. He had sworn never to love again. Never to need and be needed. Never again to run the risk of loss and grief. Loneliness, however painful, however soul-destroyingly solitary, was the safer option: an option that held no surprises and could be almost relied upon in its relentlessness. For him, loneliness had been the devil he knew. Always better than the devil unknown. Or so it had seemed. Yet, here with Laura in his arms, holding her, _needing her_, he fully acknowledged that a far more potent devil had won over, in spite of his own resistance:

That old devil called Love.


End file.
